Some You Lose
by lyapunov
Summary: Don’t you dare say it,” Buffy snarled between clenched teeth. “Say what?” shrugged the demon, Whistler. “That I told you so? Because, no, wait, I did, didn’t I!” What if Buffy really screwed up after the events of Chosen?
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer: **I do not own any part of either Buffy the Vampire Slayer or Stargate: SG-1. I am using these characters and concepts without the express permission of the owners, and ask them not to sue if they object to my homage to their creations.

"Don't you dare say it," Buffy snarled between clenched teeth. "Say what?" shrugged the demon, Whistler. "That I told you so? Because, no, wait, I did, didn't I!" What if Buffy really screwed up after the events of Chosen?

**Genre**

Stargate: Buffy – General

**Rating**

12A

**Spoilers**

BtVS: Everything!

SG-1: Anything up to early Season 7 likely

**Feedback**

I'd love to hear anything you have to say, but please make it constructive. I'm sure many of you will be pleased to read that I've gone for a slightly simpler plot this time…

Please note that this is a work in progress. I can't promise the updates will be regular, but they will be long!

**Some You Lose**

**by lyapun****ov**

**PROLOGUE**

**23:53 OCTOBER 21**

**WASHINGTON DC**

His brow creased in a slight frown as he read the file placed before him, running his right hand back and forth over the smooth, polished mahogany surface of his vast desk. With an expensive looking pen in his left hand, he carefully asterisked the margin by the paragraph nearest the bottom of the page; ruthlessly marking it out for criticism.

While obviously no longer in his youth, there was a certain vitality to him, a certain charisma that won over the majority of people he came into contact with almost immediately; a useful attribute in his profession. The man, known as 'John' to his closest friends and family, was a diligent and precise man who knew what he wanted, and if he couldn't see himself how to achieve his aim, he invariably knew someone who could.

He was also a tired man. He had arrived at work before nine that morning, and had not had one single moment purely to himself all day. He looked at his watch, then glanced guiltily at the line of photographs that marked out the far perimeter of his workspace; his wife, Roseanne, laughing at him from the garden of their family home in California, squinting in the bright summer sun. She was quite small, but no less domineering because of her lack of stature. Her unusually dark, passionate eyes could command armies, he thought with a fond smile, remembering her as she had been years ago rather than how she was now, before the grey had found its way into her long black tresses.

She was probably upstairs in their living quarters, grander than the inadequate description implied, waiting patiently for him to return. Although she put up with his late nights, and the demands of his job that took him away from her side for weeks at a time, he knew she didn't like the arrangement, and only a reckless man would needlessly fire up that second generation Italian temper of hers: blessedly hard to ignite, but even harder to douse once it had caught alight.

On either side of her picture stood photos of their two children; faces captured in a time that had long since fled, forcing their offspring into adulthood. Their son, a grown man with infant children of his own, and their daughter, deep in her studies at medical school, hopefully keeping herself out of trouble, or rather, John hoped, out of the papers. He sometimes wondered if the loss of freedom that he had imposed on his family over the past years had been worth it. They had walked into this with eyes open, he reminded himself. He was grateful that they never complained, not to him, or Ros.

Putting down the pen with a poorly disguised sigh, John reached down beside him and pulled open the desk drawer to his left, taking out a slim silver case and an even slimmer silver lighter. Savouring the feel of the cool, hard surface of the metal, he slipped the case into his shirt pocket as he pushed back his chair, and crossed to the closet to retrieve his jacket which was hung tidily out of sight.

The night air that flooded in through the tall French windows was crisp and icy cold after the relative warmth of the office, and he suppressed a shiver as he exchanged a familiar nod with the man standing guard outside, his suit carefully tailored to hide the presence of the gun holster that ran across his torso above his immaculate white shirt: but John knew it was there.

He walked along the paved veranda away from the guard, toying with the lighter in his right hand, turning it over and over between his fingers, pondering whether he had enough reserve energy to face Ros' disapproval when she would know instantly that he had been smoking again from the distinctive fragrance on his clothes. He was trying to cut down, he really was, but sometimes at the end of a stupidly long day he still needed that one last cigarette to unwind, switch off.

On hearing a throat cleared politely behind him, John turned, and knew from the ashen, worried face of Colonel Johansson awaiting his response; his will power wasn't going to be challenged anytime that evening.

"Yes, son?" said John, tucking the lighter away in his pocket with only the barest hint of regret.

"Your presence is required in the Situation Room, Mr President," said the Colonel, his voice respectfully conveying strong urgency.

John had known Colonel Johansson for three years now, ever since his transfer from the Pentagon where he'd been flying a desk, and in all that time he had never appeared as shaken as he did now. All thoughts of retiring to bed with his wife before the night completely vanished.

Gesturing for the Colonel to precede him, John returned quickly to the Oval Office, drawing the doors tightly shut behind them for privacy before addressing him.

"What's happened?"

"There… Ten minutes ago we received news that the emergency protocol at Cheyenne Mountain, Colorado was activated and allowed to complete."

It took some moments for the full impact of what the Colonel had said to hit John, his fatigued brain not jumping as fast as normal to the conclusions that he should have drawn within seconds. Suddenly the room felt very warm and suffocating, and he steadied himself with a hand splayed on the edge of his desk while he gathered himself. Seconds seemed to pass as minutes, minutes as hours.

"The SGC?" he asked, knowing the answer already, but still voicing the question.

"Yes, Mr President," confirmed the Colonel.

It felt like his brain had seized up, normal functions freezing as he tried to deal with the impact of what he had just been told. It didn't seem real, it couldn't be happening. John knew he should be reacting better than this, but then, it wasn't every day that practically the biggest secret the American Government possessed went horribly wrong in what could only be a 'very' public way. The repercussions from this were going to be immense.

"How bad –"

"It's gone, Sir."

"Oh, God in heaven." That meant not only the personnel at the SGC, but all those on night shifts in NORAD and the other Mountain based projects as well. Many hundreds of lives lost. The devastation of a large scale explosion on the lower levels of the Cheyenne Mountain complex could only mean the deaths of all those trapped inside. That was why the emergency protocol was a last and 'only' a last resort. John had been aware that there had been close calls in the past where the protocol had been initiated, but had thankfully not been allowed to progress to the final stage. Detonation. Those incidents had never seemed like a reality, the formally penned reports of barely averted 'foothold' situations, alien viruses nearly released into the population of Colorado Springs deadening the facts into carefully worded fiction.

"Has the Pentagon been informed?" John was surprised at how calm his voice sounded as it passed from his lips. He wondered what had happened down there that had finally tipped the balance in favour of chaos down in the bowels of the Mountain; wondered if anyone would ever know. The moment anything developed at the Mountain, the moment they activated their deathcon warning system, he was the first to be informed, usually informed directly by the Major General that oversaw the program. The fact that he'd heard nothing all evening told him that whatever had happened had to have been sudden and unexpected.

"Yes Mr President. Major Davis is flying out to Peterson Airbase immediately – he should be on the ground within several hours."

"Good, good…"

While he spoke, his mind was racing, exploring all of the possibilities that were immediately apparent to him. The most important fact to ascertain was whether the blast had destroyed whatever had threatened the base, or if the SGC still presented a risk to the state?

"Mr President?"

John looked up to see the Colonel watching him. He stared back for a few seconds until he realised that Johansson was waiting to escort him downstairs. With a shake of his head, trying to awaken the practical functions of his mind, John strode purposefully across the deep piled carpet and moments later, the door to the lobby closing behind the two men, the room was plunged into a stillness only disturbed by the faint hum of the lights illuminating the emptiness.

* * *

**08:49 OCTOBER 22**

**CLEVELAND, OHIO**

Turning the faucet hard, Buffy filled the tall glass with an enthusiastic burst of water that threatened to splash back over the rim. From the silence of the house around her, she concluded she was the only one home. Home. Buffy let the word roll around in her mind, trying it out as if for the first time. She thought it would have taken longer for Cleveland to start to feel remotely like it would ever be 'home', but to her surprise, after only a couple of weeks, she found herself settling into her new life with unprecedented ease.

Giles, who had been living in Cleveland for several months, had opened an antiquarian bookstore in the city which served as a very satisfactory front to the American branch of the brand spanking new, all singing, all dancing, Watchers' Council, and Buffy was finding – with the exception of a few absent friends – that everything was beginning to feel incredibly familiar. Old routines from the past few years slipping back into place like they had never been gone. The patrolling of the local cemeteries and industrial estates the previous night had gone smoothly, Buffy hardly having to lift a carefully manicured finger as she watched the newly called Slayers take time out from their homework to display their skills to her critical eyes.

Not having Willow around was strange, Buffy had to admit. After transferring the Council's funds into Giles' name, Willow and Kennedy had left for England, first for a sorely needed break and to meet Kennedy's family, then to start locating as many of the new Slayers in Europe that Willow could find. With the help of the internet and a few carefully chosen spells, Willow had already pinpointed a good portion of the Slayers in America, North and South, and they were being visited one by one by Faith, who could never stay in one place for a long time and relished the opportunity to travel, and Robin, who wasn't quite ready to let the 'second' Slayer out of his sight yet.

Xander had stayed close to Giles after the destruction of Sunnydale. He'd had trouble adjusting to the fact that Anya was gone, permanently, from his life and needed the steadying guidance of the head of the Council until he found his feet. He was also having trouble finding a decent job with his new disability; one-eyed foremen not having a great employment potential in the construction industry.

Somehow though, through it all, he had still managed to keep his humour, even if it was darker in nature than it had been before. He was good for Dawn as well, thought Buffy, the two of them like brother and sister. There being someone as devoted to her younger sibling as she and Giles were made Buffy feel less guilty about sometimes focussing too hard on the Slaying.

Buffy snagged a banana out of the fruit bowl on the kitchen table and carried it and the drink with her out into the hallway, making for the lounge. At the door, she paused, hearing voices behind it. Pushing her way cautiously into the room, she realised that someone, most likely Xander, had left the television on that morning, the level low so as not to wake her. She leant over the settee to pick up the remote and turn it off, when the words running in a banner across the bottom inch of the screen, black against a red background, caught her eyes.

Devastation in Colorado Springs. Terrorist attack now denied by top governmental sources.

'_There is still no official word on what happened near the city of Colorado Springs,' _said the newsreader, staring into the camera with the expression of dramatic seriousness that all anchormen seemed to perfect. '_All we can tell you at this point is that at approximately nine fifty last night, there was an explosion at Cheyenne Mountain, the home of the North American Aerospace Defence Command: NORAD. So far no news teams have managed to get near the site of the explosion, but eye witnesses say that portions of the mountain appeared to cave in following an earthquake that has damaged many homes and businesses within Colorado Springs, leaving many experts to believe that the earthquake was caused by shockwaves from a large explosion from deep within the mountain itself. The military are evacuating the overflow of people needing emergency medical treatment to nearby Denver.'_

The screen was suddenly filled with jerky footage shot from a helicopter showing houses and buildings with sunken roofs, everything covered with a film of dust. Buffy closed her eyes as the camera panned inevitably up to the remains of the mountain itself. She didn't want to see.

'_Many local residents,'_ carried on the news reader, _'claim that this is yet another cover up by the White House.'_

The shot switched abruptly to a middle aged man, ranting angrily into eager television cameras; vultures to his carrion. _'Everyone knows that the mountain used to be a missile test site – they've probably had hundreds of nuclear bombs down there waiting to go off for the past thirty years. They could have been doing anything down there, why, wasn't it only a year ago that there was that chemical spill that made everyone round here hallucinate? This government owes us some answers – I mean, what about California, eh, and now that weird shit starts happening here less than six months later!'_

'_The military,'_ said the newscaster, glancing down briefly at the prompter beside him, _'has just issued a statement claiming there is no evidence of any harmful radiation in the immediate area and there will be no further threat to the inhabitants of Colorado Springs, but we are still looking at a death toll which has already reached over a thousand, some of them civilians. I now go to our correspondent in Washington, Cha…'_

The identity of the White House correspondent was obscured by the sound of glass striking the floor and splintering against the hardwood boards, shards spraying out in a seemingly random pattern, escaping water seeping outwards creating temporary islands of razor sharp glass. Buffy caught her breath in a sob, tears welling in her eyes, her mouth half open in shock. She took half a step backwards, turning her face away from the television that assaulted her with images and raising a hand to clamp shaking fingers over her lips to stifle the cry that threatened to emerge.

Then instantly, she knew she wasn't alone anymore. She turned slowly to face the demon that had appeared behind her, fixing him with an angry glare, the intended effect ruined by the salty stream of tears running down her cheeks.

"Don't you dare say it," she snarled between clenched teeth.

"Say what?" shrugged the demon, Whistler. "That I told you so? Because, no, wait, I did, didn't I!"

"If I hadn't…" Buffy trailed off, forcing herself to look back at the television, now showing an official statement from the White House Press Secretary. "Would this still have happened?"

"If you hadn't walked out on them?" replied Whistler. "Who can tell, kid, perhaps, perhaps not – all possibilities are uncertain except those that we choose."

"How was I to know?" whispered Buffy, wrapping her arms protectively around herself.

"You were supposed to follow your instincts. You are the oldest living Slayer; this task was set before your door, no one else's."

The world floated away from her, slipping away into the distance, the television becoming only a distant burble. Her memory treacherously took her back to that one moment, the moment when she had made the decision. That self satisfied, smug bastard of an Air Force Colonel glaring across the table at her, pissed that he had been caught out. She'd stood up so fast that her chair had flown backwards to land with a loud clatter on the flagstones, everyone around them looking up from their tables in surprise, but she hadn't cared about the staring faces in the cafe.

"You're on your own," she had hissed coldly at him, and then stalked away without a backwards glance.

Whistler was watching her intently, and she wished he'd stop. Never had she regretted something so much in her life as she did now.

"This is my fault," said Buffy, reaching up to wipe a tear from the soft flesh of her right cheek.

Whistler didn't deny it. He just regarded her silently, his expression indecipherable.

Buffy's head was swimming.

"All those people," she choked, her throat constricting as emotion bubbled within her.

"They were nothing," replied Whistler, "there will be many more now, before it is all over."

"What?" gasped Buffy, revolted by the candidness of his statement.

Whistler laughed. A sickening chuckle containing absolutely no mirth that struck fear in Buffy, fear that the future might hold something even worse than she had already witnessed or imagined.

"You thought that your calling was over, just because you'd beaten back the first?"

"No," denied Buffy, half-heartedly.

"You considered it, I know you did – hell, I would have, but you of all people should have known that it's never over: walking away is never an option. Those folks in Colorado, the ones you deserted? More rode on them than the deaths of a few demons, believe me." Whistler's face suddenly lost its twisted expression of irony and became deadly serious, his eyes growing deep with sadness. "You don't want to be here when it all starts happening – I know I don't," he told her.

"Here? As in Cleveland?" asked Buffy, her confusion growing.

"No, as in 'here' on Earth," Whistler replied, cryptically. "You doomed this whole planet, kiddo."

"I had no choice," argued Buffy, "I had a duty to protect Dawn."

"You 'have' a duty as a Slayer. They were good people; you judged them too harshly."

Buffy knew he was right, knew she had been too quick to tar them with the same brush as the Initiative, but then, what else was she supposed to have done? They had broken the deal she had made with them when it was still only a week old. They, or rather, he, had broken her trust in him – something that she hadn't given lightly. She had warned them repeatedly of the consequences. What she hadn't realised was the consequences of 'her' actions.

"Oh god," she breathed, eyes wide. "What did I do?"

Whistler once again didn't answer her question, but his dark eyes made Buffy crawl inside with guilt and shame.

"Help me," she said impulsively, breaking the gulf of silence stretching incriminatingly between them. "Help me change this, help me undo it."

"No one can change that which had already come to pass…"

"Please," said Buffy. She walked towards the demon, reaching out her hand to touch tentatively at the sleeve of his jacket. "This is my fault. Let me fix it, I'm begging you."

"…but," said Whistler, holding up a finger and interrupting her stream of guilt, "that which has not yet happened can be undone," he said.

"What's that supposed to mean?" asked Buffy, biting down a surge of irritation.

"The Powers, they will turn the clock back as though the last three months had never happened. You will be given a second chance, but be warned, this is the only one you will get."

Buffy nodded, relief flooding through her until it was stilled by a sobering thought that flashed into her mind.

"How will I know what to do this time? How will I not make the same mistakes all over again?"

"You'll know," Whistler said, "but Slayer, there will be a price for this."

"There always is, isn't there," muttered Buffy. "When?"

"Now."

For the first time Buffy saw the sympathy in the demon's eyes that before she had always ignored, always interpreted as pity, scorn.

Buffy smiled weakly.


	2. Chapter One

Disclaimer: See prologue.

Note: Thanks for the reviews, very grateful here. I've replied to some of them at the end of this chapter.

* * *

**PART ONE**

"The world is a dangerous place, not because of those who do evil, but because of those who look on and do nothing."

**Albert** **Einstein** (1879-1955)

**CHAPTER ONE**

**04:37 AUGUST 3**

All Buffy could hear in the near darkness were her own sharply drawn breaths, and the quiet snuffling of the sleeping body in the twin bed beside hers. A thin film of sweat covered her skin and she tried to control the adrenaline that shot around her veins, but to no avail. Buffy, her golden hair splayed out on the pillow beneath her, lay motionless on her back, her bare arms crossed over her stomach, and stared up at the ceiling, focusing intently on the cracked, peeling plasterwork above her head, frowning in frustration as she tried to will away the voice that was still resounding though her mind. It was a voice she had become to hate over the past month, a voice that invaded her dreams on an almost nightly basis. She didn't know the owner of the voice, but her growing antagonism towards him, whoever he was, wasn't any the less because of that fact. Him: that was all she could discern from her memories upon waking. Other details such as age or race she could not tell, but her brain had already begun imagining a face for him that was gradually looking more and more like her father. Oh boy, she thought, forcefully dragging her musings away from the open sore that was the subject of her absentee father; that was somewhere she definitely didn't want to go this night.

Giving up on getting back to sleep, she rolled over onto her side and sat up silently, pushing the blankets away from her, and swung her legs downwards over the side of the bed until her feet collided with the coarse carpet covering the floor. As she sat there, her hands gripping the side of the mattress on either side of her, she felt an immense feeling of fatigue wash over her. Not merely physical tiredness, but a deep, internal dragging sensation like she wanted to sink so far out of sight she'd disappear beneath the earth.

This was supposed to be a new start, she thought to herself, miserably, her fingers digging hard into the soft material of her bed sheet. Sitting absolutely still, she listened to the muffled muttering and occasional grunts coming from her sister, huddled under the covers in the adjacent bed, deep within an absorbing dream. Buffy hoped it was better than the one she'd just woken from.

The room they were staying in was nothing special – special came with a price tag that Buffy didn't feel willing to submit to. Although they were mercifully no longer counting every cent, Buffy felt uneasy about spending Giles' money on unnecessary luxuries. A motel room with a bathroom, wardrobe, dresser, and two single beds served their purposes. The cable that had come with it was an added perk that both she and Dawn had been enjoying for the two evenings that they'd slept there.

Two whole days they had been in Colorado, three including the day spent in Denver, and Buffy was still no clearer as to why she had felt drawn to the city of Colorado Springs. All she knew was that the tug in the back of her mind that nagged her constantly these days was inexplicably linked to the voice that plagued her dreams. It was always the same dream, night after night. She was standing in the caves under Sunnydale, her left hand outstretched and interlocked with Spike's right, sunlight bearing down on his pale face as he smiled down at her, his expression full of wonder; ironic amusement at the way his fate had fallen before him.

"I love you," she'd told him, her wide eyes glistening with tears as she realised the full enormity of what he was doing, what he had already done for her over the past days, months. It was the only way she knew to tell him how proud she was, the only way she could communicate the turmoil of emotions she was feeling at that moment.

"No you don't, but thanks for saying it," he had replied with complete acceptance, and staring into his eyes, she knew he was right. She didn't love him, not in the way that he craved, not in the complete heart and soul, die for one another way that she'd had with Angel. She had needed his company and support when her world was falling apart around her and he'd been there, willing to love her for being who she was. As simple and as uncomplicated as that; one soul seeking comfort in the presence of another, which was why after he was finally gone, she could remain standing.

Their fingers interlocked, with the caves beginning to crumble and collapse around them as the power of the crystalline amulet hung around the vampire's neck began to destroy the stronghold of The First, and the ground shaking beneath them, Buffy had thought the moment would last forever. Time had seemed to slow to a standstill, skin clamped fervently against skin until flames, licking upwards between them, had forced Buffy to release Spike's hand, stumbling backwards as the dirt bucked under her feet.

"Now go," he had ordered her, and she had obeyed, ducking and scrambling frantically up the roughly hewn steps as fast a she could, emerging into the school basement and running for her life, leaving Spike to save them all. Well, almost all, she thought sadly. That was the point at which the dream diverged from her memories, and instead of her climbing out of the seal into the basement of Sunnydale High, there was a deafening rushing sound and a wall of white light swept over her, encasing her with a constantly growing pressure until she felt she would implode from the force of it. It was then that the voices arrived; swirling towards her, whispering strange incomprehensible words until out of the confusion came one voice, the one she hated, its tone argumentative, persuasive, and irritatingly insistent.

"Because I think you're different from everyone else here." That was all the voice said, but she knew deep down there was some great significance to those words, some meaning that she hadn't deciphered. It was then that she woke up, every time at that precise moment, three thirty-seven am, the sentence ringing in her ears as though it had been spoken directly into them.

After the third time she'd had the dream, two weeks after their costly victory and the closing of the Sunnydale Hellmouth, Buffy had gone to Giles and told him what she'd seen. They'd spent several fruitless days, with the aid of Dawn and Willow, searching through what little resources they had access to, trying to match what Buffy had related to them with any prophecies. In the end they had given up, having found nothing. Giles had suggested that her dream, in particular the wall of light, was a suppressed memory of jumping off Glory's tower to save Dawn – her fall into the energy of the portal, intertwined with the present day realisation that she was no longer the only chosen one, no longer the 'odd one out' who had to face her burden alone, to sacrifice herself for the safety of others. Buffy would have been inclined to agree with his astute assessment if it hadn't been for the nagging sensation that she had to be somewhere, somewhere that wasn't in a hotel on the edge of Los Angeles with a bunch of exhausted and hormonal super powered teenage girls and the remains of her family and friends.

After Giles had wearily informed her that her dreams didn't appear to be the precursor to some mystical cataclysm or apocalypse only she could prevent, Buffy had determined to ignore them, but with predictable regularity they still wormed their way into her sleeping thoughts. While she came to sincerely look forward to her brief glimpse of Spike that the dream offered, keeping his memory fresh and alive in her mind, she loathed the voice that woke her night after night. She hated it. Hated it because she knew without a doubt that it was important and she would eventually have to do something about it, and after her conversation with Giles the previous evening, she knew it was asking more of her than she was willing to give.

The whispered words that swirled around her, filtering through the crush of light before that single voice took over, had been getting clearer the closer she and Dawn got to the state of Colorado, and last week, she had been able to make one of them out for the first time. She had known immediately that it was in a language she didn't know, and consequently had turned to the only person she knew who would: Giles. It had taken him longer than she'd expected for him to get back to her with a translation, but when he did, she wished fervently he hadn't.

"I was wondering," she had said into the handset, idly coiling the lead into tight loops around the fingers of her left hand, "did you find out what that word meant?"

"Chappa'ai?" he'd answered. "I think so. If I'm right, it's a dialect of Ancient Egyptian."

That had surprised Buffy, certain that the word was demonic and not human in origin. Still, the surprise hadn't been enough to outweigh the disturbing fact that she had known exactly how the word was spelt, even down to the precise location of the apostrophe, from just hearing it in her dream.

"The closest I could get was 'entrance', or 'doorway' to heaven."

"Oh," was all Buffy had said in reply to this.

It wasn't until later, when she'd had time to contemplate the translation, that she'd realised what it meant: she was going to die again, return to the heaven that she'd been so brutally torn out of nearly two whole years ago. The problem that arose here was that while it was a concept that would have comforted her in the past, now it scared the pants off her. She'd been shown, if briefly, the possibility of a normal life, a life where she wasn't the chosen 'one', doomed to an early and traumatic death; the life that she'd wished for since she was sixteen. She had barely suppressed the tears when she'd realised that all she had thought she'd finally won was going to be cruelly taken away, and worst of all, she was going to leave Dawn all alone once again.

She glanced back behind herself at the sleeping teenager huddled in a pile of blankets and made a silent promise that she was going to spend as much time as possible with Dawn before…

"What's this for?" Giles had inquired. "Have you come across something I should–"

"No… no," Buffy had cut him off, not wanting to have another in depth discussion about her sleeping habits, "it was just something Dawn saw on a TV documentary and she, uh, wanted to know what it meant and I thought, yunno, Giles, he knows everything." The last thing Buffy wanted right now was Giles to worry about her; his energy need to be focussed completely on the new Slayer who desperately needed guidance, and his re-construction of the Watchers' Council.

"Right…" Giles had replied, not sounding totally convinced by Buffy's improvised explanation.

Buffy had wrapped up the call pretty quickly after than; Giles had a knack of reading her far too well these days and she hadn't fancied another argument like one she'd had with him the week before. Well, not 'argument' exactly, but Giles had made it transparent to her that she needed to make her mind up about certain aspects of her life. Answers to the big questions needed to be sought, answers to questions such as where was she going to live, what she was going to do with her life, and the real biggie: would she still 'work' as a Slayer?

"Where are you now?" His voice had been tinny and distant over the phone line in the small hotel room Buffy had been sharing with Dawn on that particular night.

"Utah."

"When will you be home?" There had been a long pause after his question as Giles had realised that his definition of 'home' wasn't necessarily the same as Buffy's. "Coming to Cleveland, I mean."

"I'm not sure."

There had been an uncomfortable silence at the other end of the line, and then Giles had said, "there's Dawn to consider here as well, Buffy."

"I know!" Buffy had snapped back, keeping her voice low so that Dawn, brushing her teeth in the en-suite bathroom wouldn't hear her. "I don't… I know she needs to finish school – I swear I'll make sure she's enrolled somewhere in time."

"But not here…" It had been more of a statement of confirmation rather than a question.

"I… we… haven't decided yet. It's a big thing Giles, I mean, another Hellmouth. I don't know if I can do that again, not now that…"

"Now there are other Slayers to share your burden? I do understand Buffy, if anyone deserves a break you do Buffy, but you need to settle somewhere – you can't just wander around America indefinitely."

Why not? Buffy had wanted to snap back, but she had bitten her tongue and remained silent. It wasn't Giles' fault that happily ever after didn't exist in the way that she had imagined when they'd all stood on the edge of the crater where Sunnydale had once sprawled. Life just didn't work that way and she'd been a fool to believe, even for a moment, that it could've. Life was messy, and required a lot of hard work whether one was 'one girl in all the world' or not.

"You're not on your own anymore, remember that," Giles had said softly, misinterpreting her lack of response.

"I never was," objected Buffy, "I had you, Willow, Xander, and of course Dawn." Angel. Spike.

"What I meant was–"

"I know," Buffy had interrupted, and she'd almost been able to see the half smile and slight duck of embarrassment his head made when something touched him. "How are they, Willow and Xander?"

"Willow say's she's having a good time with Kennedy in England. They're planning to take the Channel Tunnel to France soon, then down to Spain and Portugal – it sounds like the Slayer search is going well."

"And Xander?"

"He's… he's listening to a lot of country music, but… coping..." Giles had hesitantly told her. "You can ask him yourself," he'd added, irritation rife in his voice at the 'hey, G-man,' Buffy had been able to hear in the background, promptly handing the phone over his antagonist.

"Hey Buff, how's the Dawnster?"

His voice was bright and cheerful as it wound its way southwest across the continent, but Buffy knew Xander was missing Anya terribly. She had known that the argumentative couple, like she and Spike, had put aside their differences before the final battle against The First, and would in most likelihood still be together if Anya has survived her and Andrew's encounter with the Bringers. She felt guilty about not being there to help him through his grief, but when Giles had announced that he was going to Cleveland and Xander had immediately agreed to go with him, Buffy had known it was the last thing she wanted to do.

She had wanted a break from the constant, life encompassing, duty that had ruled her existence for over seven years; wanted a break from the Hellmouth, and instantly transplanting herself to yet another one after just having closed Sunnydale's had seemed insane. Giles had offered her a position within the new Council as a kind of 'Slayer guru', passing down her knowledge and experience to the 'green' Slayers that would soon be flocking their way. The word 'Watcher' had gone unsaid, but that had been the gist of his meaning, and Buffy shied away from the suggested role with hardly a moment's thought. She had wanted, still wanted, a different life; one apart from death, demons and destruction. One where Dawn could have a normal adolescence, making school friends by 'not' sharing near death experiences with them on their first day, she'd thought wryly.

So, with that thought in the forefront in her mind, she had gathered together what was left of hers and Dawn's possessions, and rather than flying to Ohio with the rest of the Scooby's and the new Slayers, they had taken the longer journey to the east coast, landing in New York with a feeling of fresh excitement and eagerness for what lay ahead. At first everything had seemed normal, she and Dawn had spent an enjoyable few days in the Big Apple, enjoying the sights and exploring the shops, but then she had felt like she needed to move again. With her little sister in tow, who had no objections to the extended holiday they appeared to taking, Buffy had bought a used car and driven south through Virginia, the Carolinas, Georgia, arriving finally in Florida, where a trip to Disney had been inevitable, but once again, Buffy had felt ill at ease and unable to settle.

Her decision to drive west had seemed entirely logical at the time, seeing as how travelling east would have put them in the ocean, but as they gradually circled up through Arizona to Utah, then east again, Buffy had realised it was no coincidence; she had unconsciously responded to the night time coercion. She knew without knowing, felt without feeling, that this was the place the dreams had been guiding her towards, the same way she could always sense even when blindfolded where her opponent was.

Knowing, as well, that all chances of further sleep that night were gone forever, Buffy slowly reached over to the chair beside her bed and lifted up the dark red sweater that was draped over its back. Removing her night vest, she pulled the sweater over her head, then stood to change into a pair of black jeans and rummage around under the chair for a pair of trainers. When fully attired, she knelt down beside her bed and as quietly as she could, slid her suitcase out from under it and unzipped the right hand corner. Ignoring the metal teeth that grazed her wrist, Buffy forced her hand inside and found the stake exactly where she had hidden it back in Los Angeles. It nestled in her hand like an old friend, the smooth surface of the much used, sharply tapered stick a familiar touch against her skin.

She stood in the dim light, her arms hanging limply at her sides, and stared down at her sister, trying to imprint in her mind the way that Dawn's chest rose and fell, the faint smile on her lips and the twitch of her eyes as she dreamt. She glanced down at the stake at her side, and instantly felt caught between being two people. It was the old dilemma that had been rattling around her head since Sunnydale; could she walk away from being the Slayer? Could she, even if she wanted to, leave everything behind after what she'd been forced to see and do for over a third of her life? For so long now she had been Buffy: the vampire Slayer, who was Buffy if she wasn't the Slayer. Buffy only had faint recollections of her life before the calling, but what she did remember about herself she didn't like. At least that was one thing being the Slayer had done for her, she'd become a better person, and of course, she'd been given Dawn.

Buffy picked at the tip of the stake with her fingernails, unwilling to accept that she already knew the answers to most of her questions. She was the Slayer, as simple as that. There was, and never would be such a thing as a 'former' Slayer, or a 'retired' Slayer, not really. The Slayer was who she was, who she would always be. The part of her that yearned for the freedom of wandering the night alone, that heard and answered the call of the darkness, would always exist whether she denied it or not. Twice, she had given up being the Slayer, the first time after being expelled from her school in LA, the second after she'd had to kill Angel to stop Acathla. Maybe in a perfect world it would have been third time lucky, but this was the real world, and it was far from perfect.

She looked down at Dawn one last time, then, stake tucked neatly up her sleeve out of sight, she crossed swiftly to the motel door, making sure she took the key card from the dresser, and slipped out onto the balcony. She'd tried so hard to resist, but in the end, as it always did, the calling won the battle of wills. With barely the hint of a footfall she trotted down the steps down to the parking lot, and made her way with cat-like grace through the jungle of cars and trucks towards the road that ran alongside, turning southwards in the direction of the city's outskirts. As she swept through the darkness she felt an intense joy rising unbidden within her chest that almost eclipsed the guilt she felt for what her decision would mean for Dawn.

There was no point in fighting it, she was 'the' Slayer, and regardless of however many more of them were out there after Willow's spell, it would never end.

16:21 AUGUST 6

Colonel Jack O'Neill of the United States Air Force was beginning to flag seriously, and he knew it. The constant drone was getting to him and he didn't know how much longer he could take it. His eyelids were drooping uncontrollably and his mind was wandering dangerously. He could feel his head tilting inexorably forwards until the point at which his chin would slump against his collar bone. Jack dug his fingernails into his thigh to try and bring even the slightest measure of alertness back to his brain, and tried to occupy himself with planning as many escape routes as possible from his current location.

He was so tired that it wasn't even funny anymore. It had been weeks since he'd had any real downtime from his position as SG-1 commander and second in command to General Hammond at Stargate Command, not since SG-14 had gone missing at least, and that had been over a month ago. His head felt so heavy, the gentle buzz of the voices surrounding him lulling him into a state of semi-unconsciousness. Jack's last thought was that there was no way he was going to fall asleep, not in a mission planning briefing of all places.

"Colonel?"

Jack's eyes snapped open and stared up at the Major glaring down at him, laser pen directed pointedly at his chest, her blue eyes accusing him of all sorts of heinous crimes.

"Mmmm, what?" he asked, raising his eyebrows in a picture of innocence.

"I was just explaining, Colonel," said the Major, her tone conveying a degree of acidity, "that if Teal'c can give me a hand with recording the energy spectrum that the structures are emitting, you and Daniel can concentrate on examining the ruins and hopefully that will reduce our required mission time to P5C-989."

"Oh, yes… right, of course," Jack muttered, doing his best to ignore the exasperated look the Major was giving to General Hammond, seated regally at the head of the table.

"Are you alright Colonel, because we can continue this–"

"No, no, I'm awake now," said Jack, interrupting the General with an apologetic smile. "Carry on Carter," he instructed with a lazy wave of his hand towards to the aerial view of P5C-989 projected onto the screen on the wall at the far end of the briefing room.

"Okay," said Carter, turning swiftly back to her presentation only to turn back a second later with an irritated frown distorting her face. "What was I saying?"

"Energy, ruins, split up, save time," Jack reeled off, smirking at the snort of amusement from the man sitting beside him.

"Right… thanks."

Jack shot her what he hoped was an endearing grin, and settled back down to endure the remainder of the meeting. They hadn't even got onto Daniel yet, he thought miserably as he picked up his pen and tapped it lightly against the pad of yellow paper resting on top of the prospective mission file. In the pretence of giving Major Carter his full attention, Jack found himself staring at the back of Daniel's head, who having taken the chair directly to his left, was bang in his line of sight. Daniel Jackson, archaeologist, linguist, anthropologist and SG team member. Civilian scientist who had saved his life and the lives of the people in this room a good few times during the eight years that Jack had known him. The man who with his detailed knowledge of Ancient Egypt and ability to 'join-the-dots' had solved the puzzle of the Stargate and made the last eight years of Jack's life the most insane he'd ever experienced.

The Stargate, cited as the 'most important endeavour mankind has ever undertaken', or words to that extent, thought Jack. To him it was the means by which he, and the others of Stargate Command battled against the ever present threat of the Goa'uld; alien parasites that ruled large sections of the galaxy by assuming the role of cruel and power hungry Gods. The Stargate had been built by an extinct race of beings called the Ancients, and was a ring of some kind of extraterrestrial ore that went by the name Naqahdah. Using massive amounts of energy it created a wormhole in space between it and another Stargate – Jack didn't have a clue how – hundreds of light years across the galaxy.

Through the Stargate, they had found many planets populated by humans transplanted by the Goa'uld from Earth in a time long forgotten by the modern world, and many with life forms that were utterly alien, but also races that had once been humanoid, such as the Asgard, who, ironically, matched the description of many a UFO spotters' 'Roswell Grey' to a T. Unfortunately, from the moment they had set foot through the Stargate, journeying to the planet of Abydos just over nine years ago, they had made quite a few enemies, either the Goa'uld and their Jaffa armies, or races of beings that displayed a high level of xenophobia and feared the strength and level of technology that had developed on Earth in the relatively short time since the false gods had been driven out millennia ago.

Not all Jaffa were enemies of Earth, the first world, known to the Jaffa as the home of the Tau'ri. Some, such as the former first Prime of Apophis, now a very 'dead' Goa'uld, had been taught by his Jaffa master to see the Goa'uld for what they really were: false gods who had enslaved their people. That Jaffa, Teal'c, now sat opposite Daniel Jackson across the briefing room table and had fought at their side as the fourth member of SG-1 for six long years, still dreaming of the freedom of his people, who often battled against him, refusing to believe his 'lies'.

Jack rested his chin on his hand, his elbow supported by the rim of the table, and doodled on the pad with the pen, sketching an accurate representation of a P-90, the primary weapon he and his second in command, Major Samantha Carter carried into combat. For some reason he couldn't get the sight to look quite right, and leaning backwards and looking at the drawing critically he guessed that it was because it was slightly out of proportion with the rest of the weapon. His ears pricked up momentarily as he heard Daniel mention the name Anubis, but relaxed again as he realised the archaeologist was telling Carter that he doubted they were unlikely to come across any of the Goa'uld's forces off-world. Jack's role on this mission would purely be as an extra pair of hands for Daniel unless anything unexpected happened, which was unlikely as SG-11 had carried out the initial visit to the planet a week ago and had found nothing of significant threat other than a rodent-like creature with a rather nasty bite; hence his inability to concentrate adequately on the briefing.

As Daniel rambled on about ruins and the cultural implications of said ruins, Jack turned his attention back to his second in command, who had finally sat back down at her place opposite him and was trying surreptitiously to sneak a glance at what he'd been doodling. Sometimes, though he'd never admit the fact to anyone else, Major Carter intimidated him. Only a little, mind. She seemed to be able to combine being an incredibly competent female Air Force Officer with being one of the most versatile physical scientists ever employed by the American Government. Whether it was astrophysics, nanotechnology, or the inner workings of an alien device, she always seemed to get her head around the problem eventually. Jack knew he often acted dumber than he really was, but Carter definitely had a lot more brain cells than he; even before he'd killed most of them off with alcohol and repeated head trauma… And she was, of course, despite her good looks and pert, bouncy blonde hair, totally off limits to Jack as well, a situation he'd struggled with a few years ago.

Jack sighed discreetly, and cast his eyes back down on the paper, leaving Carter staring at him with a confused expression on her face, immersing himself back in his doodling until he realised that General Hammond was addressing him, and the meeting finally appeared like it would be drawing to a close.

"As you know, Colonel, Senator Kinsey will be arriving this Monday with a contingent from the Senate Intelligence Oversight Committee," General Hammond said, closing the briefing file before him and resting his hands, fingers laced together, on top it.

"Yes Sir," Jack acknowledged, "wonderful news. Where would Sir like the garlic hung, just around the office door or perhaps a little on the desk itself?"

"Colonel," said General Hammond, fixing Jack with a stern, but tolerant look, "I understand your… dislike… of the Senator, but in the interests of–"

"I know, Sir. Don't worry, I'll be the epitome of decorum to our visiting bloodsucker – what?" he said in response to the surprised looks he was getting from his team. "I'm not allowed to use long words now?"

"Not as a general rule, no," said Daniel, eyeing him owlishly through glasses that had slid down his nose.

"Well, I–" Jack started to retort, but was drowned out by the loud announcement that blared throughout the base, the volume making his teeth ache.

'UNSCHEDULED OFF-WORLD ACTIVATION, I REPEAT, UNSCHEDULED OFF-WORLD ACTIVATION.'

"No one's due back this afternoon are they, General?" Jack said, his question answered by the speed at which General Hammond left his chair and headed for the spiral staircase behind him that led down to the operation's room two floors below. "Apparently not," Jack murmured, pushing himself away from the table and following in the General's wake.

Jack clattered down the steps, the rest of SG-1 hot on his heels, arriving in the operations' room as the 'Gate technician on duty, Sergeant Davis, was receiving an encoded radio signal through the now open Stargate. Although the 'Gate itself was visible through the wide operations room windows that overlooked the Embarkation room below, the event horizon was obscured by an enormous metal shield that spanned its diameter, namely to prevent the reintegration of unwelcome travellers.

"Report, Sergeant," barked General Hammond.

"Receiving IDC," replied Sergeant Davis, and then hardly a moment later glanced up at the General with a shocked expression on his face. "Sir, it's SG-14's remote code."

"Open the iris," ordered General Hammond, only hesitating in his decision to give the order for a split second, "and get a medical team in there 'stat'."

Sergeant Davis obeyed instantly, his right palm having been already poised over the control pad.

"Sir, they could have been comprised at any time," warned Jack, rubbing his hands apprehensively around the back of his neck.

As he spoke, the iris retracted, revealing the shimmering wormhole that had been hidden behind it, appearing almost like the surface of rippling water seen from underneath. It was a sight that Jack had seen many, many times over the past years, and now, rather than seeing the innate beauty of the alien technology, he only saw the threat that allowing a team declared missing in action back through it onto home soil.

The sensible, but admittedly hard-hearted, thing to do would have been to lock out their identification codes when they'd failed to establish communications with Stargate Command. The team could have been tortured into releasing codes and vital information about the base to hostiles, or they just could have gotten lost or abducted and were now escaping home. It was a hard decision to make, and one Jack was glad he didn't have to take the responsibility for. He watched as the Special Forces, aligned in a semi-circle at the rear of the Embarkation room, raised their weapons at the top of the ramp that led up to the Stargate, their fingers tightening slightly on the triggers of their rifles, ready to fire the moment the General gave the order.

"I'm aware of that, Colonel," replied Hammond, "but if it really is SG-14 on the other end of that GDO I'm not having their deaths on my hands just because they're a 'little' late home."

At that moment, a body, clad in only fawn camouflage pants and t-shirt, shot through the Stargate to land heavily on the ramp, rolling several feet downwards before coming to a halt, followed seconds later by another. The bodies lay motionless, scanned by many pairs of eyes that noted their lack of weapons, jackets, and even footwear. One of the soldiers at the base of the ramp placed his foot on the first step and begun to approach the forms but dropped back hurriedly as a figure staggered through the still open wormhole. He was staggering partly from the obvious pain and fatigue, but mainly from the third body, supported over his shoulders. As the medical team rushed in, the man looked up and stared around the Embarkation room, his tear filled gaze resting finally on the operations room and its occupants.

"My god, that's Mark Hayward," Jack heard Daniel gasp behind him as the man let out a cross between a cry and a sob, and his legs collapsed beneath him and he fell to his knees, shaking uncontrollably, his burden sprawling before him.

They watched from the relative safety of the operations room as the scene unfolded below them, the white clad nurses and doctors scrambling up the ramp towards the bodies, their faces hidden behind protective masks, hands sheathed in colourless rubber gloves as they pressed expert fingers against the red, blistered and bloody necks and wrists of the motionless members of SG-14. It was the Chief Medical Officer, Doctor Janet Frasier, who eventually stood from where she had been crouched beside the first body and pulled the mask away from her face briefly and spoke up to the General, her voice carried by the microphones placed all around the room.

"Sir, they're dead."

* * *

goddessa39 – Hi. I'm not Buffy bashing, I'm just using characters that have flaws and make mistakes. As to what she did, you'll see when the story gets to the relevant point. Don't quite understand what you meant by 'split the notes from the actual story'? Regarding relationships, there aren't going to be any other than friendships I'm afraid, but I hope that doesn't stop you enjoying the story. 

Lady J of moon's hallow – Beginning of Season Sevenish. No pairings that aren't current in either SG-1 or BTVS world, so yes, Faith is with Wood, but they aren't going to feature much in this story.

Thanks to everyone else who sent me feedback, it's great to know what you think is working (and what isn't…). Lya.


	3. Chapter Two

Disclaimer: see Prologue

**CHAPTER TWO**

**17:27 AUGUST 6**

Quite why anyone had actually been surprised when SG-14's mission to the planet designated P2W-666 by the base scientists went horribly wrong, Jack would never understand.

They had first known things weren't as they should've been when SG-14 had missed their scheduled report to General Hammond, six hours after their departure from SGC through the Stargate. Following their second missed 'call home,' General Hammond had sent a Mobile Analytic Laboratory Probe, or M.A.L.P, through to 666, but aside from the team's Field Remote Expeditionary Device there had been no sign of life anywhere within the vicinity of the 'Gate. That was when Jack, along with Sam, Teal'c and Daniel, had volunteered to go through the Stargate and try to find them. The General only agreed to their request after the UAV, sent into 'orbit' twelve hours after SG-14's failure to initiate contact, had sent back a reading of no detectable life signs on the planet's surface.

SG-1's visit to 666 had been the first of a total of three separate rescue expeditions to the planet by both it and SG-5 in their search for the missing team. It hadn't been a world that Jack had liked very much. It had been hot, very, very hot. This was mainly due to the fact that the planet was bound to a binary star system, and the moment one sun chose to sink leadenly behind the depressingly vast sand dunes, the second peeked over the horizon from the opposite direction, only allowing for mere seconds of what could only be described as 'dusk'.

Jack had started by concentrating SG-1's activities west of the Stargate, where, in a brief break from dry, grey coloured sand, there was an area of volcanic rock with pumice-like cavities and craters, home to dense deposits of minerals and metal ores; SG-14's reason for exploring the planet. Aside from having to watch for plumes of boiling steam that jetted from narrow fissures that ran nearly a metre either side of the path Teal'c took through the maze of rock, the planet didn't seem too dangerous, and certainly hadn't been classified as such by earlier aerial surveys of the area.

But, despite this, there had been absolutely nothing to explain why SG-14, and all sign that they had ever been there, had eroded away in the hot, dry wind. Heavy-hearted, they had returned home, and after subsequent search and rescue missions that had been equally unsuccessful, General Hammond had declared SG-14 missing in action. That had been one and a half weeks ago, which was why, when the vanished team had dropped out of an artificial wormhole into Earth's Embarkation room less than ten minutes earlier, everyone there to witness the event had been a little shocked…

It would have perhaps been a more joyous occasion if three of the four team members hadn't been dead, but that was looking at it rather negatively, thought Jack; it was fortunate in his line of work if one got the 'bodies' back after their owners had finished with them.

The only survivor of whatever catastrophe had befallen them, a young Sergeant named Mark Hayward (and by young, Jack meant late twenties) was currently under the strict ministrations of Doctor Janet Fraiser in one of the base's many medical isolation rooms, deep within the Mountain. Jack, along with General Hammond, the rest of his team crowded in behind them, was staring, and occasionally wincing with sympathetic pain, as the Doctor administered a multitude of tests and checks. Sergeant Hayward though, gave no sign he was even aware that Doctor Fraiser was even present, sitting on the edge of the gurney, his hands resting limply in his lap, his mouth slack, gazing blankly at the wall, a vacant expression in his red-rimmed eyes.

It was another ten minutes before Doctor Fraiser glanced up at the observation room, as if noticing her audience for the first time. She was a small woman, prone to wearing ridiculously high heels for someone in her position of Chief Medical Officer for the Stargate Programs, but she got away with it simply because she had practically every person on the base, male and female, wrapped around her little finger. Doctor Janet Fraiser invariably commanded intense loyalty; there was something about her delicate features and dark, lively eyes that communicated deep intelligence and caring – that, and the fact that she had treated or saved the lives of each and every one of them over the past seven years.

Removing her gloves, turning them neatly inside out with a slapping sound that made Jack's teeth clench involuntarily, she had a quick word with one of the nurses and then swept out into the corridor and made her way round to where the General was waiting impatiently, pulling down her surgical mask as she passed into the room so that it hung around her neck.

"What's his condition, Doctor?" General Hammond asked, barely giving the woman time to draw breath.

"Well, physically he'll recover," Fraiser replied, her words belied by her grave expression. "He's dehydrated and has nasty burns to his face and arms, which I'm guessing were caused by overexposure to UV radiation."

"Sounds about right…" Jack muttered, remembering the dual suns that beat down relentlessly on 666.

"He is also anaemic," continued Fraiser, "and has cuts and bruising around his wrists from what look like restraints, but it's his mental state that I'm worried about General." She glanced down into the isolation room at her charge, worry marring her forehead. "I'm no psychiatrist, but he's evidently in shock, and to be honest I haven't seen anyone like this since… well, I'm not sure I have seen anyone in his condition before. I've taken the liberty of contacting Doctor Mackenzie and he'll be down first thing tomorrow morning to make his assessment."

"What about contagious diseases?" asked Carter, her arms folded tightly across her chest. "What did the others die from?"

"Loss of blood as far as I could tell – their throats had been cut," Fraiser replied bluntly. "I don't think there are any viruses to worry about, but I'll know more after a post-mortem has been carried out on them. Until then, Sergeant Hayward is quarantined."

"I'm not surprised he's in shock," said Carter, raising a hand subconsciously to her neck.

"Oy," breathed Jack. The Air Force trained their men to cope with warlike situations, but still, some things went beyond the call of duty, or, as was clearly evident, one's sanity.

Sergeant Hayward had become an Airman later than most in life, having had a long education in several prestigious universities before choosing to serve his country. Jack knew that despite the young man's capabilities in the field, he was still very much a scholar at heart, and had been spending several hours a week with Daniel, since the older man's return from Oma-Desala-land, cultivating a healthy interest in cultural history. Looking over at the sick expression on the archaeologist's face, Jack didn't think Daniel was taking his apprentice's situation very well. Nine years, and Daniel still hadn't learnt to deal with the simple fact that in war there were casualties, thought Jack, not for a second entertaining the idea that perhaps that was a good thing.

"How soon before we can find out what happened to them?" General Hammond asked, passing a hand over his bald head, his hair having deserted him long ago.

"I don't know," sighed Fraiser, "I've been trying to get through to him for the past half hour, but it's like his mind has just closed down. Whatever he witnessed he just can't deal with it right now."

"Like his team being slaughtered in front of him, for example," said Daniel, his voice betraying a simmering anger just beneath the surface of the icy, if nauseous, calm he was projecting.

"Daniel, we don't know for sure that's what happened," interjected Jack.

"Probable though, don't you think?" replied Daniel, raising his eyebrows in a silent challenge that Jack didn't rise to.

"Teal'c, does this look like the handiwork of the Goa'uld to you?" asked Jack, turning to the large Jaffa.

"I cannot say, O'Neill," Teal'c admitted.

"I think that's unlikely. The Goa'uld wouldn't return the bodies," Daniel explained bitterly.

"Not really their M.O. – we shall torture and execute the infidels, then return their remains home for a decent burial by their own people…" Jack trailed off as he saw the look Daniel was giving him, realising too late the crass nature of his comment.

"No…" Daniel agreed, tight lipped.

"Why did Sergeant Hayward not share in SG-14's fate?" Teal'c queried, breaking the uncomfortable silence that reigned between the two men.

"Good question," murmured Carter.

"Well the questions are going to have to wait I'm afraid, you're not going to be able to get anything out of him soon, and certainly not tonight," Fraiser said firmly, conveying to all of them with no need for clarification that they were to go nowhere near her patient without her permission.

"Thank you, Doctor," said Hammond, inclining his head slightly to acknowledge her unspoken order. "Please notify me if there's a change in his condition."

"Yes, Sir. Now if you'll excuse me…" and with a waft of starched white coat, laced with medicinal chemicals, she disappeared back into the realm over which she ruled with Napoleon-like authority; and which Jack tried to avoid at all costs…

With General Hammond having also retreated back to his office, back to write some difficult letters to the families of the three deceased members of SG-14, the four of them loitered in the observation room alone, watching as Sergeant Hayward was injected with sedatives and mild painkillers, eventually being persuading to lie down on the metal railed bed.

"Makes you think, doesn't it," Daniel said quietly, crossing to the window and leaning against it, his palms splayed flat on the glass.

"Not really," Jack sourly replied.

"Just look at him," continued Daniel, ignoring the Colonel's words.

"Daniel," growled Jack, glaring at the archaeologist's seemingly oblivious back.

"What?"

The first thing Jack O'Neill had learnt as a young Captain with the Air Force, serving a country at war, was that people died, and more than often in his line of work they died in horrific circumstances. One day you were sitting ignorant and innocent in the commissary with your friends and colleagues, and the next you could just as easily be sitting alone, the only survivor of an almighty fuck up; and god knew, Jack had seen enough of those over the years.

Afterwards, you got drunk, you got angry, and you beat the shit out of a punch bag for a few hours. The one thing you did definitely did 'not' do, was think about it. The people Jack knew who'd started thinking were the ones who invariably started falling apart. Then again, the idea of Daniel deliberately not thinking about anything defied all the rules of the known universe…

Suddenly, Jack was too tired to get into a full blown argument about military psychological detachment, especially when Daniel was evidently spoiling for a fight. The overpowering fatigue that had abated for a short time with the rush of adrenaline accompanying the arrival of SG-14 was reasserting itself with a vengeance. Jack was simply too shattered to think straight, let alone follow a discussion with a double PhD humanities scientist who could talk circles round him, even on a good day.

"I'm going to get some sleep," he announced, nodding to Carter.

"Goodnight, Sir."

Jack raised his hand briefly in a half wave to his team, and backed clumsily through the door.

Five minutes later, four floors' descent in the main elevator, Jack had sleepily located his quarters and had collapsed onto the bed with a grunt, not even bothering to first remove his boots or over-shirt. Lying on his back on top of a grey military blanket that barely cushioned him from the thin mattress beneath, he fell into a deep sleep within minutes of his head hitting the pillow, his dreams only slightly disturbed by the hordes of Jaffa that chased after him through fields of bright purple grasses, brandishing unfinished mission reports.

**20:14 AUGUST 6**

Buffy hunched over the dregs of her strawberry smoothie, elbows resting lightly on the plastic veneer of the diner table, watching with amusement as Dawn attacked the largest chocolate fudge sundae she'd ever seen with focused determination. Dawn's ability to consume large quantities of rich, sugary food without feeling the slightest bit sick baffled Buffy, who'd lost her own sweet tooth a long time ago.

The diner they were eating their evening meal in was fairly average as diners went. The food was honestly priced and not too bad, well, not too bad for fast-food. The two of them were sitting opposite one another in a window seat, so that they each had a clear view of the street outside, the near vicinity of which was bathed in the neon pink glow of the diner sign, and could watch as the lights gradually flicked on as daylight receded, and the traffic began to thin to the occasional car or truck speeding down the main street.

Dawn dipped her spoon into the fluffy cream topping of her sundae and dug down hard, piercing the layer of hot fudge beneath but avoiding the core of soft vanilla ice-cream, then expertly twisted her wrist and raised it to liberate a large portion of the fudge, which was duly consigned to her mouth. After sucking the spoon clean, then lowering it for a repeat 'run', Dawn paused and stared up at her sister, her eyes questioning.

"Buffy," she said, her dessert forgotten for a brief moment, "how long are we going to stay here?"

"You want to leave?" Buffy asked in return, avoiding directly answering the query.

"No…" Dawn said slowly, shaking her head, "it's just…"

"You miss the others?"

"Yeah," agreed Dawn, playing with the end of her spoon.

"I do too," Buffy said quietly.

"But I like doing this too," Dawn said quickly, as if to reassure Buffy that she wasn't complaining, "it's fun."

Buffy smiled, glancing at Dawn with sparkling eyes.

"It doesn't take much to keep you happy does it," she laughed.

"Just my big sister, and sugar," mumbled Dawn, pushing a large ice-cream and fudge sauce loaded spoon into her mouth and grinning cheerfully.

"I think we can just about manage that," said Buffy, pushing her napkin across the table as a small trickle of melted ice-cream escaped onto Dawn's chin.

She was about to say more, but her eye was caught by a figure passing swiftly past her on the other side of the glass. Despite the fact that Buffy could only see the back of the man, clad almost entirely in dark blue denim, her spidey sense, or so Xander had named her 'vampire radar', was going crazy. She watched the 'man' cross the street and disappear into a deserted alley at the side of a hardware store. It took all of her self control not just to get up there and then and go after him.

Buffy hadn't told Dawn she'd been 'hunting' again. She was pretty sure her sister wasn't aware that she'd been slipping out in the small hours of the night and Buffy simply didn't know how to raise the subject. All Dawn knew was that her elder sister had been getting up to go running first thing each morning, and Dawn being of the age where lying in bed all morning came naturally, she didn't suspect anything was amiss. If Buffy was totally honest she was scared of telling Dawn she'd been slaying again because Buffy was certain Dawn wouldn't take the news well. That was, however, a piece of news Dawn would take better than the news that Buffy's Slayer dreams had returned and were prophesying her death once again.

"Buffy? Something wrong?" frowned Dawn, regarding her sister with concern.

Buffy brought her gaze back from the pedestrian bustle of the street outside to smile warmly at her sister, raising her hand to the side of Dawn's forehead and brushing a long brown strand of the teenager's hair away from her face with gentle, loving fingers. She'd get that vampire on her patrol tonight; just as soon as Dawn fell asleep, she'd be after him.

"No, Dawnie, nothing's wrong."

**00:30 AUGUST 7**

Jack rolled off the bed with a groan, sliding onto his knees before he was even fully awake. In the darkness he fumbled for the light switch then squinted at the clock that told him he'd been asleep for nearly six hours. Pushing himself stiffly to his feet with the aid of the bed, he stumbled bleary eyed to the door and pulled it open, wincing at the shrieking alarms that violently assaulted his ears.

In the corridor the alarms sounded much louder than they had in his sleeping quarters, and Jack's head ached in protest at the rude awakening. Just in time, he stepped backwards hurriedly into his doorway to avoid being mown down by the company of SF's that ran past towards the elevators, their weapons held at the ready.

"What the hell's going on?" Jack yelled down the corridor after them, thinking he was going to be ignored until the end man, wearing the distinguishing badge of the marines halted and trotted back towards him.

"Hostiles, Colonel. Last we heard they were on level twenty one," the marine said quickly.

"Upstairs?" said Jack, somewhat confused, still trying to shake sleep from his mind. "They didn't come through the Stargate?"

"Not as far as I know, Sir," replied the marine, glancing repeatedly after his disappearing colleagues.

"You got a side arm?" Jack asked, running his eyes over the marine's ordinance.

The marine nodded, immediately reaching for his berretta and handing it, along with a spare clip of ammo to Jack.

"Thanks," said Jack, stuffing it into the back of his pants. "Dismissed," he told the marine who nodded again and ran off instantly to rejoin his unit. Jack looked around himself in bemusement, shaking his head at the disappearing soldier; why on earth was the infirmary under attack? "This is what happens when you go to bed early," he muttered darkly, then set off at a sleepy paced jog down the corridor to where he knew the emergency escape shaft was located, knowing that it would be the quickest way to get to the combat zone without being seen.

Having released the bolts that secured the steel door hiding the shaft that descended throughout Cheyenne Mountain, Jack yanked it open with a grunt and stepped gingerly over the black hole, swinging himself onto the rungs of the metal ladder that spanned unseen both above and below him. With a quick check to make sure his weapon was still held tightly in his belt, Jack reached over and pulled the door to behind him, and begun to climb upwards.

It was just after he'd passed level twenty two that Jack felt his right hand come away from the ladder wet. Puzzled, he held his hand before his face and sniffed at the liquid, but it was totally odourless to Jack, and in the darkness he could hardly see a thing. Tentatively he touched his palm to the tip of his tongue, then instantly grimaced and spat, tasting the distinctive metallic flavour of blood.

"Fuck," he swore, wiping his hand on his shirt. Then, he froze, feeling a draught against the thin film of perspiration that covered his brow. A waft of fresh air. That meant only one thing; the hatch on the mountainside had been opened, and coupled with the evidence of blood, Jack guessed he wasn't the only person to have been using this route recently. He began climbing the final metres upwards with renewed vigour.

A few seconds later, his heart pumping loudly in his chest, Jack found the exit door to level twenty one hanging open. Carefully, he traversed himself into the doorway and stepped down into the corridor, dropping instinctively to his knees and rolling as a volley of bullets impacted deafeningly with the steel door that thankfully shielded his body from the onslaught. As he rolled, his right arm snaked behind him to grab the hilt of the weapon he'd requisitioned several minutes earlier and raise it before him, ready to return fire, crouched uncomfortably in a squatting position.

"Hold your fire, hold your fire," he heard a woman's voice cry, just audible over the blaring alarms, and saw Major Carter running forwards from the midst of a group of heavily armed Airmen.

"Carter," Jack called back, not moving his gun away from the Airman on which it was trained; the Airman who'd ever so nearly killed him only seconds earlier.

"Lower your weapons," Carter ordered, dropping down beside him on one knee. "Colonel, are you injured?" she asked, staring pointedly at the dark smears of blood on his hands and shirt.

"It's not mine, Carter," Jack said irritably, rising to his feet. "What happened? Where's General Hammond?"

Jack watched as the Airmen moved in to secure the escape shaft he'd just exited, and he noticed for the first time the bloody handprints all around the outside of the door and surrounding wall. Whoever had opened it prior to his arrival had struggled with the release bolts, and had finally, Jack realised with disbelief, simply ripped the door free of its restraints.

"We're not sure yet," answered Carter, her eyes meeting his with a haunted look. "General Hammond's with Fraiser – you need to see this," she told him, gesturing with her rifle in the direction from which she'd come.

Jack had a sense of foreboding even before he followed Carter round the corner and saw the trickle of blood that had flowed out of the morgue to pool in the corridor, where careless boot clad feet had trodden in it, bloody foot prints leading back the way they'd come. Carter stepped back to give him clear access to the morgue and Jack stepped gingerly over the mess on the floor and into the room, having to balance himself unexpectedly on the doorframe to avoid tripping over the body that lay half slumped against the interior wall.

Scanning the morgue, Jack counted a second body, nearly hidden by one of the large metal tables. Bodies in a morgue should have been perfectly normal, except for the fact that these had died very recently, and from their formerly white lab-coats, Jack could easily identify them as the morgue staff. He knelt down by the body nearest the door and turned him over so that the mans' head flopped back, exposing what was left of his mutilated throat. It had been literally torn away, vivid coloured blood still oozing sporadically from the severed arteries. Christ, he could see the spine.

Jack made a face and retreated from the body, feeling his mouth go dry. Why would anyone want to kill a bunch of pathologists?

"Their throats were slashed, Sir."

"I can tell that," replied Jack, moving across the room towards the second body and poking it gently with his boot. "Geez," he breathed, crouching down with his back to Carter and parting the folds of material around the dead mans' neck to look at the blood splattered military tags. Jack suddenly realised whom the blood on his hands and clothes belonged to, and remembered what it had tasted like.

"Anyone else hurt?" he asked, rising and turning back to Carter, trying to resist the urge to spit.

"Just one," said Doctor Fraiser, suddenly breezing into the room, all white coat and business. "One of my night staff suffered a minor head injury and a broken arm, but she'll recover." Janet looked sadly down at the body lying at Jack's feet that definitely wouldn't recover in this lifetime.

"Did she say what happened?"

"It's a little strange, but she swears blind that it was SG-14."

Jack looked up sharply and met the Doctor's eyes, only to see that she was being utterly serious. It was then that he noticed that all of the tables in the morgue that should have had corpses laid out for post-mortem examinations were empty. That Major Brooks, Captain Samuels and Lieutenant what's-her-name's bodies, waiting for the thorough analysis by the medical staff to determine the cause of their death, were gone.

Jack swallowed. "Are you telling me they…" just got up and went on a killing spree? was what he'd been going to say, but that sounded weird even to him, despite all that he'd seen during his years spent on the Stargate program.

Before Fraiser could answer there came a pounding of feet down the corridor towards them and Daniel sped into view, red faced and panting, a tape clutched between the fingers of his right hand.

"Sam," he gasped, "I've got surveillance camera footage from this level."

"There's a video player hooked up in my office," Fraiser said quickly, leading the way out of the morgue and down the corridor, pausing only to order a SF to summon General Hammond from the Infirmary where she'd left him minutes earlier.

The stunned silence that filled the Janet's office seemed like it would last forever to Jack. No one said anything, just stood there, staring at the grey fuzz that filled the monitor, each of them trying to come to terms with what had just flashed before their eyes.

Daniel hadn't managed to retrieve any of the video feed from the morgue itself at such short notice, only the corridor outside, but it had been enough.

After fast forwarding through several minutes of uneventful film there had been a sudden bang, faintly audible through the speakers that'd had Carter diving for the volume control. Jack wished that she had left it alone once he'd heard the screams that followed. There were cries of fear and pain that permeated even through the sturdy base doors, and a chill ran down Jack's spine as the sound was recreated; he knew that to get a guy to scream like that you had to do something pretty horrific to him. Jack was suddenly grateful that they didn't have any pictures from the morgue – he wasn't sure he wanted to see them.

Soon after the blood curdling cries had died away, the door, just visible in the top right hand corner of the camera, had opened, and everyone clustered round the eighteen inch screen had taken an involuntary gasp of breath. Major Alan Brooks, leader of SG-14 had walked out into the corridor, closely followed by the other two, formerly dead, members of his team. It wasn't just the fact that three people whom Jack was certain had been permanently deceased the last time he'd seen them were doing an exceptionally good impression of being alive, it was the fact that they were all marked to some degree with the blood of what Jack assumed was the two pathologists. And the really disturbing fact was that the blood was primarily on their faces, specifically, their mouths.

They moved swiftly across the bottom of the screen and were out of view within moments, but just before they passed out of the range of the camera Major Brooks glanced up at the camera, and for a split second, Jack could have sworn that the Major's face changed, his eyes flashing a golden colour, not unlike that of a Goa'uld asserting dominance over its host.

Jack didn't trust what he thought he'd seen until he'd run his eye over the shocked faces of the people around him and saw them looking as wide-eyed as he was.

"They 'were' dead, right?" said Jack, hesitantly breaking the silence. "They looked 'really' dead earlier…" he trailed off, staring at the picture Carter had rewound and paused on the blurred face of Major Brooks.

"In every medical sense," said Fraiser, sounding overwhelmed.

"Then how…?" asked General Hammond, gesturing at the frozen image before them.

"This is beyond me, General," Fraiser confessed, shaking her head in bemusement. "I've never seen anything like this."

Her confession was strangely reassuring to Jack; he would have been greatly disturbed if she had. The dead shouldn't rise, at least not this long after Easter, and he would have been hard pressed to convince himself that there'd been anything 'holy' about the carnage in the morgue. It had been far less 'biblical' and more 'horror movie' territory, thought Jack.

"What about a parasite infestation that was somehow missed – something alien?" asked Daniel, his arms wrapped defensively around his torso.

"I suppose that's possible," conceded Fraiser, shrugging, "if they were taken over by some form of Goa'uld it would explain the Major's eyes."

"They're not Goa'uld," Carter announced firmly, speaking for the first time.

"You sure?" asked Jack.

"Yes," nodded Carter, turning to General Hammond. "There's something different about them, and besides, if they were Goa'uld they wouldn't have appeared dead – they need a living host to survive," she explained.

"Yes," said Daniel, his tone making it clear he disagreed, "but remember Teal'c used to be able to go into such a deep state of Kelnoreem that he could appear dead."

"I don't think that's what it is this time, Daniel," argued Carter. "I didn't sense the presence of a symbiote."

"Maybe not," replied Daniel, "but don't you usually have to be in close proximity to tell?"

"Yes…"

"So, either Dr Jackson is correct, and we've got a bunch of Goa'uld's on our hands, or…" summarised General Hammond, gesturing his desire for further scenarios with palms raised upwards.

"Or SG-14 brought something back with them, something we couldn't detect in the 'Gate room," said Carter.

Jack had been just about to mention the Reetou, when Teal'c appeared in the doorway, staff weapon held spear-like beside him, looking out of place alongside his military fatigues.

"General Hammond," the Jaffa said in a deep voice that commanded instant attention.

"Teal'c, have SG-14 been apprehended?"

"No, they have not," said Teal'c. "It is my belief that the hostiles have left the mountain and are on the surface of your planet as we speak," he reported.

"He's right, Sir," agreed Carter, "we found evidence that they used the emergency shaft to exit the base."

"You think they may have gotten past the perimeter?"

"It is likely that is the case, General Hammond," answered Teal'c, inclining his head slightly so that the gold emblem on his forehead flashed under the electric lighting.

"General, Mark Hayward is so far not demonstrating any symptoms other than shock, but if this – whatever this is – is somehow infectious and they get into the city, then the repercussions are going to be huge," said Fraiser, her dark eyes full of worry.

"Or if they just start killing people," added Daniel, raising his eyebrows above his glasses.

"Indeed," said Teal'c.

"I agree," nodded General Hammond, turning quickly to Jack. "Colonel, I want search teams all over the mountain and the surrounding area. If they've breached the perimeter I want your presence in town to be as covert as possible – I DO NOT want a public panic. If the situation gets out of control, or beyond our jurisdiction, then the local authorities will be informed, but only then. I want this contained, and I want SG-14 back here – alive if possible."

"Understood, Sir," acknowledged Jack, finding his second in command with his eyes. "Carter, you and Daniel liaise with the K-9 units. Teal'c, you're with me," he ordered, indicating with a jerk of his head for the large Jaffa to lead the way up to the secondary armoury on level nineteen.

"Alive, Sir?" queried Doctor Fraiser once the four members of SG-1 had left her office.

"If there's any way to undo what has been done to our people I want it found, Doctor," said General Hammond, meeting the Doctor's eyes with intense seriousness.

**02:28 AUGUST 7**

It was about this time of night that everything got really quiet in Sunnydale, but in the bustle of the city, Buffy had come to find that life never really went to sleep. There were always the shops that opened all night long, serving the insomniacs and shift workers, the dustmen and street cleaners that patrolled the thoroughfares even more regularly than she.

More night time activity meant, as Spike would have put it, 'more happy meals with legs', for the vampires and other demon-kind that preyed on stray humans, but to Buffy's guilty annoyance, aside from the odd vampire and occasional demon that ventured from its lair, there wasn't that much for her to do in Slayer capacity. In fact, she'd prevented muggings more times that she'd sensed anything supernatural over the past two nights.

The vampires she had ferreted out and fought had been substandard to her critical eye, but perhaps she'd become so used to the far superior Turok-han that normal vampires seemed small fry in comparison? Buffy didn't know. Surely Slaying used to be harder? Despite the strong military presence in Colorado Springs she had expected there to be more of a demon underworld, at least in the city outskirts or the more seedy downtown bars, but so far she had found practically nothing of any note. Even Spike would've been scornful of the quality of the demons, and Buffy was really beginning to question why the Powers had summoned her to Colorado.

Rousing herself from her dreams after a few hours of sleep, Buffy had checked the time on her watch, then sat up and leant over towards the other bed, making sure Dawn was soundly asleep, before sliding from her bed and pulling her clothes back on. In the early hours of the new day, she had retraced her footsteps back the Diner at which they'd eaten that evening. It had taken her about an hour to locate the vampire she'd spotted during the meal, tracking it through a series of back alleys and side streets until she came to a derelict building in the west of the city where it dwelt. But the short fight, during which the vampire had been transformed into a cloud of dust, hadn't been enough to satisfy Buffy, and she'd roamed on through the night in search of yet another opponent until reaching an area of Colorado Springs that was undergoing development.

The site was just east of the Cheyenne Mountain reservation, in the shadow of the majestic pinnacle of rock that dominated the skyline. It was there, realising that no demon was stupid enough to live in a place that was swarming with builders during the day and guarded constantly at night, that Buffy had turned to head back to the motel and the comfort of her bed. She had only walked five yards before a figure, dropping soundlessly from the scaffolding that ran up the side of a half finished building and disappearing behind the cab of a stationary crane, caught her eye.

No human would have survived such a fall.

Buffy grinned in the darkness, anticipating the hunt before her, and removed her stake from where it was tucked inside her jacket. She spun it expertly in her hand, showing off to a non-existent audience.

Avoiding the main gate which was guarded by a night watchman who would have definitely denied her entrance, Buffy scaled the mesh fence that ran along the edge of the outer limits of the site where it fell into shadow, noiselessly landing on the sun dried mud on the other side. Acrobatics in high heeled boots is an art form, thought Buffy as she crouched motionless; listening to make sure she hadn't been seen. As she waited there, hunkered down in the shelter of the fence, Buffy found it hard to shake the feeling that she was being watched; but with no accompanying cries or accusations she did her best to dismiss the sensation, rising quickly and running towards the skeletal building, her stake gripped ready in her right hand.


	4. Chapter Three

Disclaimer: see Prologue

Note: Can I just say a big thanks to 'Wizathogworts' who pointed out I should be using the terms morgue and pathologist rather than mortuary and mortician… whoops. Editing has been done!

Thanks to everyone who's taken the time to review. Sorry the story has been a little slow so far, but the fun starts now! Enjoy, and if you've got an opinion about the chapter, let me know...

* * *

**CHAPTER THREE**

**02:35 AUGUST 7**

Jack squinted in the near darkness, trying not to trip on the debris that littered the ground. Wooden beams propped hazardously at head height, narrow planks spanning metal poles bolted into position, spare washers and nuts strewn un-noticed in the dirt. A stray beam of moonlight glinted as it sneaked in through the bare structure and struck the silver of pipe cladding and the beginnings of ventilation installation, left treacherously dangling from the floor above.

Quite exactly why he'd followed her in here, Jack didn't know. Part of it, he reasoned, was that he'd had an overwhelming curiosity to know why a young girl was breaking into a building site for Colorado Springs' newest shopping complex, other than she 'just couldn't wait for it to open'. He'd also been impressed by the ease at which she climbed the perimeter fence, a fence that had given him several nasty scrapes on his stomach as he'd gone after her.

Jack stumbled against a protruding spine of scaffolding and cursed at the ripping sound of his jacket sleeve as it tore. Giving in to fear of paperwork, Jack lit up his flashlight and resigned himself to betraying his position. Walking backwards in a lazy circle, he shone the flashlight round the site, the powerful beam hitting light metal ladders that snaked up through the building, disappearing into empty elevator shafts and escaping through non-existent walls. As he took in his surroundings, Jack realised he had no idea where the girl had vanished to, and that his chances of finding her were probably next to nothing. He pulled his radio from his pocket and was just about to check in with Teal'c, when there was a soft crunching sound from beneath his feet and the unmistakable grind of metal rasping against wood.

His radio in one hand, flashlight in the other, Jack made his way towards where a section of web-like scaffolding disappeared into the ground, descending down into the maintenance levels of the construction. Tied, Jack hoped securely, to the scaffolding was a narrow wooden ladder, worn smooth by use, which dropped down onto a platform suspended over the first basement level. Tucking the radio into his pants pocket and clamping the flashlight firmly between his teeth, he swung himself onto the ladder and climbed the several metres downwards until his feet hit dusty boards. For a few seconds he hesitated there, straining his ears for any further sound, and low and behold, further away but still beneath him there came soft footfalls and the crunch of dirt being ground against concrete.

Not pausing for a moment to consider that he was being lured deeper and deeper into the sublevels of the building, Jack looked around for another ladder, finding one immediately to his right disappearing off the edge of the platform and through a gap in the thick stone floor and into the next level. Wrapping his hands around the vertical beams of the ladder, Jack stepped onto the rungs and slithered his way down to the next platform where he stopped, taking the flashlight out of his mouth and shining it around himself, surprised at the cavernous size of the space he was in.

It wasn't until he stepped closer to the edge of the scaffolding that Jack guessed what the rasping noise he'd heard earlier had been, and his world gave way.

The air was knocked out of his lungs as he impacted with the concrete below, and instinctively he cradled his arms around his head to shelter it from the broken wood and occasional metal pole fell on top of him. He lay still as the dust settled, waiting for the rest of the scaffolding to collapse around him, but it never did, and eventually he risked a choking cough that raised another cloud of dust. Casting about himself, his hand collided with his flashlight and he pulled it towards himself and ran his fingers over it cautiously. There were a few nervous moments where he thought the bulb might have been smashed, but his thumb found the on switch light and swelled thankfully into being, illuminating his unwelcome landing pad.

The flashlight picking out the poles rising like spears around him, Jack could see that wooden platform on which he'd been standing moments earlier had splintered and broken such that he had actually fallen down inside the bars of the scaffolding, the planks creating the penultimate platform breaking a fall that could have been a lot worse.

"Oh crap," he grunted as he attempted to push himself to his feet and found with a stab of pain that he must have twisted his left knee at some point. With a low moan of discomfort, Jack struggled upright, trying not to pull too much on the scaffolding in which he'd lost all faith, and hopped over to a support pillar, leaning his back against it as he tentatively experimented with the extent of his injury by putting increasing amounts of weight onto it. Painful, was what Jack concluded after gathering some fairly agonising data, but he could walk if he was careful and did most of the work with his right leg.

Although his flashlight had survived the plunge to the ground, his radio wasn't such a happy story, and he pulled the broken plastic out of his pocket with a weary sigh, feeling it fall apart in his hands in a mess of broken circuitry.

Listening to the waves of sound die away, Jack suddenly knew with perfect clarity that he wasn't alone.

"Hello?" he called, shifting himself round the pillar until he could see the faint outline of his companion, lit dimly from the light filtering down through the hole in the ceiling. To his astonishment he saw not the small figure of the girl he'd followed, but the tall, broad shouldered form of a man. Jack raised the beam of his flashlight, playing it slowly up the body of the man until it picked out a face, staring back at him with a twisted upturning of lips.

"Colonel…" replied the man, and Jack did a double take, recognising him the moment he spoke.

"Captain Samuels," Jack said authoritatively, drawing himself upright with the aid of the pillar, "you're to consider yourself under arrest for the murder of SGC personnel." Always good to get the legal blurb before anything regrettable happened, thought Jack.

Captain Samuels opened his mouth, and to Jack's utter surprise, laughed.

"The General sent his prize bloodhound to fetch back the disobedient soldier," he said, walking slowly towards Jack, his eyes glinting dangerously, not showing any irritation at the flashlight that flicked across his face. "He will learn to be more patient in the future; we would have returned to claim that which shall be ours…"

"Whatever – that's close enough," barked Jack as Captain Samuels continued his advance.

"Oh, I really don't think it is," came the reply, and Jack hissed as Captain Samuels' face shifted and distorted, the brow becoming more pronounced, ridges forming over golden eyes, lips parting into a mirthless grin, revealing lengthened, razor sharp incisors.

"You heard me," snapped Jack, pulling out his Berretta from where it had been secured in a holster under his jacket, gripping his fingers firmly around the handle, his wrists coming together to make an X, the hand directing the flashlight steadying his aim. "I will fire," he warned, the beam wavering ever so slightly as Captain Samuels continued his menacing advance, a deformed smirk spread over his misshapen features.

"Don't!" Jack shouted, his thumb rising to remove the safety with cold efficiency. He clenched his face in regret as the Captain took no heed, mindful of General Hammond's instruction that SG-14 were to be detained alive if possible. Telling himself he had no choice in the matter, Jack squeezed the index finger of his right hand and felt the answering kick of the weapon, the barrel jumping upwards as the gun discharged with a bang that set up echoes bouncing round the enclosure. He watched the Captain stagger, momentum spinning him off course as the bullet ripped through his shoulder, without emotion; he wasn't the first man Jack had shot, and it wouldn't be the last – of all the things in the universe, of that he was sure. Jack's finger relaxed on the trigger and he took a step forwards, gun still trained on the Captain, before he realised that proceedings weren't going as normal.

Captain Samuels was staring back at Jack with a malicious grin, standing firmly on his two feet. His left arm wasn't hanging, damaged and slack like it should have been. His stance was not borne of defeat, Jack recognised with a disturbing crawling sensation down his spine, but of anger, and primal desire for revenge…

Three more bullets were fired from Jack's gun before it was forced from his hand, dropping earthwards and skidding across the floor with a clatter, the sound nearly totally masked by an inhuman guttural roar from Captain Samuels. Jack had no time to react as a hand clamped vice-like around his throat, slamming him backwards with unimaginable force against the concrete pillar, knocking nearly all the air from his lungs. He tried to strike at Samuels head with the flashlight, but it was deflected swiftly and fell to the floor and rolled away, plunging everything into darkness.

The speed and ease at which he'd been incapacitated would have been laughable, thought Jack, if the situation wasn't so deadly. He was an Air Force Colonel with decades of hand to hand combat experience and black operations training behind him, yet, try as he might, all the knees in the groin and frantic twisting couldn't loosen the steel grip of the Captain that pinned him to the pillar, and a chill began to settle in the pit of his stomach.

With all his strength, Jack pushed hard against the Captain, grunting with the effort, unwilling to give in without expending all he had to give; stunned at the predicament he had so suddenly found himself in. His endeavour resulted in what sounded troublingly like a growl form the Captain, and Jack's head was thrust back forcefully by the hand at his throat, lifting him inescapably upwards until only the tips of his boots scrapped the ground, scrabbling frantically as they tried instinctively to find purchase. He couldn't breathe, his chest contracted, the diaphragm spasming painfully as his lungs tried in vain to suck air through his restricted windpipe, blood pounding rhythmically in his ears – so loud he thought his head would burst. Loss of consciousness beckoned to Jack as his brain became more and more deprived of oxygen, and his attempts to free himself relaxed in their intensity.

"Know this, Colonel," snarled Captain Samuels, triumphant and gloating, finally lowering Jack who was dazed and unable to resist, until he was almost level with the Captain's malformed face. "The human plague on this planet will soon fall. Dominion shall be won over all living things, day will fall to night, and a new age will rise."

The hand shifted its grip to lock firmly under Jack's jaw, forcing his head backwards to expose his jugular. Eyes closed, he waited for the slash sideways, the wrench of those elongated teeth that would tear open his throat like that of the first body he'd seen in the morgue.

But it never came.

Without warning, the hand around Jack's throat was gone and he sank to the ground, hunched over in pain, coughing as he gasped for breath, his forehead scraping against the cool, dusty concrete. For a few long moments all Jack was capable of being aware of was drawing large gulps of air into his lungs, the feeling of blacking out finally start to recede, the pounding rush of blood in his head fade gradually away until he began to hear the sounds of combat, or more accurately, Captain Samuels' cries of anguish. Still bewildered at his unexpected, but welcome, freedom, Jack sat up, his fingers dabbing tentatively at the bruised skin of his throat as he tried to figure out what on earth had happened. Had Teal'c found him? That was unlikely, thought Jack, seeing as the Jaffa didn't even know he was in trouble.

"You will pay for this," Captain Samuels snarled and Jack heard what he could only interpret at feet circling one another; the precursor to an all out fight. He wanted to shout to his liberator, warn him that the Captain was far, far stronger than he looked, but his throat wouldn't work and all that came out was a dry, rasping croak.

"Oh please," came an answering rejoinder, carrying clearly to Jack through the darkness, "could you at least come up with something original."

The retort was dripping with contempt, and Jack got the shock of his life as he identified the unmistakable register of a female voice. A female voice with a west coast accent. 'There's no way…' Jack whispered to himself, not even wanting to contemplate the idea of his rescuer being a woman; she would be torn apart by Captain Samuels.

On hands and knees, Jack fumbled frantically round the pillar, searching for the dropped flashlight. It seemed to him to take hours upon hours for the beam of light to pick out the two circling figures; the large form of the Captain in stark contrast to the small, waif-like stature of the girl that had misguidedly taken him on.

Suddenly, the Captain lunged forward and Jack tensed unconsciously, waiting for the girl to be caught by grasping fists. But it never happened. With lightening speed, the girl wove in under her opponent's arms and dealt her own blow, striking hard at the groin then ducking swiftly away as her victim slumped forwards.

"Holy buckets!" breathed Jack.

"That's the problem with you guys nowadays," continued the girl, circling Captain Samuels once again, "you're all bite and no bark."

Captain Samuels attacked again, but his blow was neatly blocked before it reached its target, being met by one in return, followed by a kick that had him staggering backwards. The next punch from the girl however was dodged by the Captain, who caught her by the wrist and powerfully flipping her onto her back so she had to quickly roll out of reach to avoid a sharp boot in the gut.

"Hey, you can fight!"

Jack was totally nonplussed at the pure pleasure he could hear in her voice as she got back up and stalked deliberately forwards, her approach more cautious than before but there was still something intensely feral in her bearing. He had trouble staying with the contest that followed, the two adversaries dancing in and out of the beam as they traded and blocked blows. He could hear the fight though, and listened with white knuckles to the familiar sound of two people attempting to beat the crap out of one another.

Then, abruptly there was silence. Jack searched anxiously with the beam until it landed on the girl, lying on her back, Captain Samuels standing aggressively over her. He was about to throw the flashlight, the remains of his radio, anything to create a diversion, when the girls' legs shot out with a scissoring manoeuvre and cut the Captains' feet from under him. Some kind of weapon materialised in her right fist, and crouching over the prone form of the Captain, she plunged it down towards his chest, and with a strange rushing sound, he was gone.

"What…" said Jack, grimacing at the throbbing in his oesophagus as he tried to speak.

The girl's head shot up from where she knelt, fixing him with wary eyes, before rising slowly and crossing the distance between them, the echoes thrown by her boots sounding loud in the comparative stillness. She squatted down in front of him, long blonde hair falling forwards as she leant over to examine his neck, and Jack saw for the first time that it was no girl that had saved him, but a young woman.

"How…" Jack whispered, raising dust coated fingers to touch disbelievingly at the thin boned wrist of the woman, unable to comprehend how she had defeated a man at least twice her size. He peered hard at her, trying to find the weapon she'd used to disintegrate Captain Samuels, but whatever it had been, it was no longer visible.

How in the world did she fight in those heels?

"I'm sorry, I got distracted," she said, ignoring Jack's question, her fingers lightly tracing the line of his throat before pulling away and wiping her hand on her pants. "Are you going to be okay?"

Jack stared at her blankly.

She reiterated the question, reaching down to shield herself from the light of the flashlight, staring intently at him.

"Yeah…"

Jack climbed stiffly to his feet, steadying himself with one hand on the pillar behind him.

"My gun," he said in a low voice, casting his eyes over the ground.

"They don't work you know," she said, making a face at him, but still raising her left arm to point at the weapon lying several metres away from them where it had spun to leaving a faint outline of its path in the dirt.

"I got it," Jack quickly, even though the woman made no movement towards the berretta, and retrieving the weapon, returned it securely into the holster. He felt disapproving eyes watching him and he turned back to the woman, giving her a lopsided smile, half gratitude, half bemusement. "Who are you with?" he asked.

The woman frowned, "what do you mean?"

"NID, NSA, ATF… Orkin…"

She was unable to prevent a small smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. "No."

"No?"

The silence hung between them, broken only by a tired sigh from Jack. She evidently wasn't going to tell him who she was; just stared back at him with wide, sad blue eyes.

"What now?" asked Jack, recognising the standoff.

"Now?" she replied, her voice devoid of all feeling. "Now you go home. Forget you ever saw me."

"I don't think I can do that," he told her, shaking his head.

"You'd be surprised," she shrugged, turning to leave.

"Wait," Jack snapped, but she ignored him, fading away into the shadows. He stepped quickly after her, momentarily forgetting his injured knee and grunting as it threatened to collapse under him, and by the time he'd regained his senses, it was too late; she'd gone.

**04:16 AUGUST 7**

"Argh… dammit!" Jack swore as Doctor Fraiser pulled his shin forwards, holding his thigh steady and manipulating the tender joint with cool, assured hands.

Jack sat in his t-shirt and shorts on the edge of one of the many Infirmary beds trying not to swear as Fraiser did painful and sadistic things to his knee. He couldn't get too mad at her because after all, the injury was entirely his own fault, but of course, that didn't stop him complaining. God, he was worse that Daniel, Jack berated himself. What had he been thinking, climbing around on that building site without telling Teal'c where he'd gone? Jack thanked his lucky stars that the night guard had turned up to investigate the noise when he did, sparing Jack the tricky assent back up the scaffolding alone.

Not for the first time he wondered where in hell the woman had disappeared to…

"I'm sorry, Colonel," Fraiser apologised, but still failing to halt her activities Jack noted in disgust, "but I have to make sure you haven't ruptured a ligament."

"I haven't," replied Jack, a little more sharply than he'd intended, shifting his leg away from her, "it's just pulled. I know my own knees."

"It looks like that would be the case," Fraiser sighed, straightening wearily and retrieving her clipboard, her pen pirouetting across the attached chart.

Jack felt suddenly guilty, remembering that the Doctor must be as shattered as he, having worked solidly through the night in spite of pulling a full day shift beforehand.

"I've recommended your removal from active duty until the swelling has gone down," Fraiser said, purposefully avoiding his eyes as she informed him of her decision, knowing that he would be less than happy.

"Oh for crying out loud," Jack griped, his fingers digging into the mattress angrily. "General, tell me you didn't," he said, seeing General Hammond entering the Infirmary and glancing around with a slightly lost expression before locating Doctor Fraiser.

"Didn't 'what', son?" said General Hammond, joining them.

"Stand down?" Jack said scathingly.

"I'm sorry, Colonel, but I have to agree with the Doctor here," General Hammond replied, giving Fraiser a supporting nod.

"But they're still out there," Jack grumbled, not quite willing to admit defeat.

"All except Captain Samuels it would appear. Care to tell me what happened out there, Colonel."

"I screwed up, Sir… ahhhh, will you just leave it!" Jack snapped irritably at the nurse wrapping a thick support bandage around his left knee. She paid him no heed and continued her ministrations despite his narrow-eyed glares that shot daggers in her direction. "I was unfocused," Jack admitted with a grimace, determining to ignore the nurse in return, "ended up following this woman into a building site, and, well, to cut a long story short I fell through some scaffolding. Captain Samuels turned up all homicidal and tried to strangle me – his face did that morphing thing Major Brooks' did." Jack shuddered before continuing, wishing the General wasn't so hard to read. "I put a bullet, several actually, in him and… well, I thought my goose was cooked until the woman reappeared and took Samuels out," he finished, shrugging his shoulders in bemusement. How was he supposed to explain something when he himself, the primary witness, didn't understand?

"Where is Samuels now?" General Hammond asked, though Jack was pretty certain he'd been told of the Captains unusual demise.

"Gone, Sir. The woman had some sort of doohicky that disintegrated him."

"Any idea who she was?"

"None at all – she wasn't all that talkative, but I'm thinking NID maybe? They seem to be behind most things one way or another… Thank you, I'll do that myself," he said dismissively to the nurse who was now trying to apply cream to the abrasions on his neck. The nurse rolled her eyes and slapped the bulging tube into his hands before stalking away with an aggrieved air. "She knew what she was doing, General; I don't think she was there by chance."

If it 'was' chance, Jack thought uneasily, then he was damn fortunate to be alive. With his knee in such bad shape there was no way he could've fought Captain Samuels on even terms, but even so, he was still acutely embarrassed by the lack of fight he'd displayed. It was auspicious that he'd managed to get a couple of rounds off from his gun and wounded Samuels before the woman had fought him. Jack supposed if he hadn't the outcome would have been very different.

"Have you got a description?" General Hammond asked.

"Short. Skinny. Blonde," Jack replied after several moments' careful consideration, and then added the word, "cute", as an afterthought.

General Hammond wasn't amused. "That's all? Nothing about the weapon she used?"

"It was dark, Sir," said Jack, looking suitably penitent.

"Would you recognise her again?"

"Yes, Sir," Jack answered with certainty, knowing hers was a face he wouldn't forget in a hurry; something about the world weariness present in her eyes that he'd instinctively identified with.

"I'll have a few words with some people," said the General, "see what I can find out."

"With respect," started Jack, "I'd like to rejoin Teal'c and–"

"Request denied," General Hammond cut him off.

"But, Sir…" Jack protested weakly.

"You're exhausted, Colonel, you said yourself that you screwed up and I can't risk that happening again – not with the stakes so high. One more person out there is not going to make any difference to the outcome of this problem. I believe you have several mission reports overdue that could use your attention," the General Hammond said, combining the stern military reprimand with a measure of paternal concern that Jack found hard to disregard.

Exhausted, thought Jack, unreliable was more like it. He had made errors of judgement that could have been fatal, errors that had resulted in his being unable to bring a member of SG-14 into custody alive. If he continued would a call he subsequently made result in yet more deaths?

Grudgingly accepting the General's wisdom, Jack nodded, sliding down off the bed after picking up his clothes from the bed behind him and limping towards the exit, snagging his boots off the seat of a chair as he went.

"Colonel," he heard Doctor Fraiser call after him, making him pause in the doorway. "You know the drill?"

Jack rolled his eyes, calling back to her as he walked off down the corridor towards the lifts. "Rest, ice, compress, elevate. I haven't forgotten, Doc."

**14:30 AUGUST 7**

Ten hours, six complaints (from various, fraught Airmen), fifty minutes of quality sleep (taken with head flat on desk), and one slightly crumpled report later Jack entered the briefing room by way of the stairs: assaulted gingerly and with much caution.

The upside, Jack pondered as he tackled the last step, was that the complaints hadn't been made 'to' him; hence he hadn't had to bother to do anything about them. However, the flipside was that they'd unfortunately been made 'about' him, and consequently one Major General George Hammond wasn't likely to be in such a good mood with a certain grey-haired Colonel. Like he'd been overjoyed before, Jack thought sourly. Oh well, one couldn't have everything in life, and if he had to stalk a few Airmen in order to be kept up to date on the continuing search for SG-14, then so be it.

He only wished his left knee didn't feel so opposed to bending or bearing his weight. Its neighbour did so with only minor objections, and Jack felt that it should be taking better notice of the good example. The truth of the matter was, that in a nutshell, age was catching up with him. It had reared its sly, ugly head when his mind, and usually body, had been otherwise occupied with more important affairs. Which, with the planet often at fate was probably a good thing, but the result was that Jack was getting to the point where he could no longer ignore the obvious: he was an 'old man' doing a job meant for the lithe and youthful.

His body no longer recovered as fast as it used to, sometimes forgetting almost entirely that joints were supposed to be flexible first thing in the morning, the spring in his step returning with more and more reluctance each time it took a battering. Having always been incredibly fit and active throughout the majority of his adult life Jack hated the feeling that his body was wearing out on him with a vengeance. He knew he should sensibly start to slow down a little, stop demanding things of his body that would have been acceptable in his twenties but now resulted in niggling aches and pains that lasted for days afterwards.

The problem was that Jack simply wouldn't know what to do with himself.

"I'm just saying," an earnest voice greeted him, "we have no idea what their natural behaviour is. We don't know whether violence is a 'default setting' if you like, or just a reaction to confrontational situations."

"Morning… afternoon," Jack corrected after staring quizzically at his watch and tapping it several times even though it was digital: old habits die hard. "Whatcha talking about?"

"Afternoon, Sir. Daniel and I were just discussing…"

"Arguing," Daniel pedantically interjected.

"…arguing about the General's decision about involving local law enforcement over SG-14," Major Carter informed him.

"Oh," said Jack, taking his customary seat at the large octagonal briefing table opposite Carter and Teal'c. "Speaking of the General?" he asked, gesturing at the unexpectedly empty setting to his right.

"In his office," said Carter, nodding towards the transparent star-map, behind which was the General's inner sanctum. "He said to go ahead without him."

"Jack, what do you think," Daniel said suddenly turning to Jack, his long fingers toying distractingly with a silver ballpoint.

"About what?"

"SG-14, or whoever they are – do you think they represent a danger to the public?"

"Oh yeah, you should have heard Samuels spouting all sorts of fanatical crap," Jack emphatically replied.

"Fanatical?" Daniel frowned.

"You know: humans are a plague, darkness will prevail and blood shalt flow like water. That sort of thing," he explained.

"Apocalyptic?"

"I was thinking megalomaniac, but that'll do."

"Well, whatever he said, General Hammond contacted the Sheriff's Department this morning. Gave them description of Major Brooks and Lieutenant Parker and issued a statement saying they were AWOL, unpredictable, armed and dangerous: not to be approached by non military personnel," said Carter.

"Media caught on yet?" Jack asked.

"No so far," Carter shook her head. "There's been neither sight nor sound of either Brooks or Parker since daybreak; hopefully we'll be able to keep this out of the news until they're been apprehended."

"Pictures have been sent to all the airports and boarder checkpoints so if they try to skip the state we'll get a heads up," added Daniel.

Jack was not convinced those methods would be adequate to rein in two highly trained soldiers, and one look at Carter told him that she didn't think so either. The reality of the situation was that if either of the two members of SG-14 wanted to leave Colorado there was nothing they, or the entire State Police could do about it.

"What about my friendly neighbourhood ninja, know who that was yet?" he asked, changing tack.

"Yes, Sir: Buffy Anne Summers."

"Buffy!" Who saddled their kid with a name like that?

"Is Buffy not a common name on Earth?" Teal'c asked, not understanding Jack's reaction.

"God, I hope not," Jack heard Daniel murmur beside him.

Carter grinned and referred to a fawn coloured file before her. "Summers was caught on camera near the building site and we managed to match her face to…" She trailed off, her eyes rising to watch General Hammond exit his office looking more than a little flustered.

"I just got off the phone with the President," General Hammond announced, walking the length of the table and pulling out his chair, "concerning our Miss Summers."

"That was quick, Sir," said Carter, surprised.

"He called me," the General said meaningfully. He sank into his seat with a sigh that seemed to drain all the air from his lungs. "It appears that the digging Major Carter has been doing has stirred up one mother of a hornets nest."

"But I ran her though the computers less than half an hour ago?" exclaimed Carter, her eyes wide.

"I know, but your search triggered a number of alarm bells very high up in both military and civilian circles. It has emerged that Miss Summers was involved with a governmental agency in the past, whose actions where somewhat controversial."

"Which one?"

"The President didn't say, Colonel. What he would tell me however is that Miss Summers is a young lady of the utmost integrity, but is not presently associated with either him or any governmental enterprises at this time. His direct instructions were that all enquires pertaining to Miss Summers' military and classified records are to desist, effective immediately. I believe his exact words were 'Miss Summers is a private citizen of the United States and should be treated accordingly.' He also warned that under no circumstances is Miss Summers to be harassed or coerced by this Command."

"Whoa, that's pretty heavy," whistled Jack.

"What did you find, Sam?" asked Daniel, intrigued at the maelstrom she'd unintentionally initiated.

"Nothing!" Carter said defensively. "Seriously – a few police cautions for arson and violent behaviour, but no charges. She did have an FBI file as well, but it was empty."

"Suspicious?"

"Very," replied Carter, nodding and thumbing though the thin file. "If she has been involved in classified projects then the documentation must be incredibly well buried. All I could find that was remotely interesting is the fact that for the past seven years she resided in Sunnydale, California – until recently of course," Carter concluded.

"What's interesting about that?" asked Jack. He wondered why everyone turned to stare at him like he'd just proclaimed he was a Goa'uld.

"Err, because the entire town collapsed into a giant sink hole," said Daniel, eyeing him strangely.

"When was that?" said Jack, returning the look with intense mistrust.

"Two months ago, O'Neill," Teal'c told him, one eyebrow cocked in what passed as Jaffa concern.

"Jack, it was all over the news – are you seriously telling us that you didn't know?" Daniel's expression changed to one of amazement.

Jack glanced pensively around the table at everyone. He felt strangely out of his depth, unsure whether or not they were playing some bizarre practical joke on him. Nope, they all looked worryingly solemn.

"I might have missed… it…" he finally admitted.

"It was indeed most fortunate that the towns' people deserted Sunnydale the night before the catastrophe," remarked Teal'c.

Okay, now they _were_ having him on.

"Yes that was odd, wasn't it," Carter said gravely.

Or maybe not…

How could he have missed hearing about this? It was true he'd been blinkered recently by a stupidly heavy workload after Daniel's surprise return, but even the de-ascended archaeologist had picked up on the event! Carter, who'd been practically sequestered in her laboratory, working on what she'd told Jack before his ears had threatened to implode was a new and improved Naqahdah generator, evidently knew about it.

Feeling distinctly inadequate, Jack turned his mind back to the conversation discussing, or for everyone else, re-discussing, the cataclysm that had befallen the inauspicious Californian town.

"Mass E.S.P?" Jack hazarded, receiving a poorly disguised look of irritation from Carter.

Jack made a mental note to look up Sunnydale and see for himself what all the fuss was about. He'd use Daniel's computer, he decided. This was not because Daniel's computer was in any way superior to his (apart from the 'dance like an Egyptian' wallpaper obviously) but for the uncomplicated reason that Daniel, in an attempt to be helpful, or possibly to speed Jack's departure from his office, would inevitably end up taking over; hence saving Jack the trouble of actually using the damn thing himself.

This, unfortunately, Jack sighed, demonstrated his comparative age with his friend. It wasn't that he couldn't use computers or the 'net, after all he got his reports typed up (occasionally on time as well) and had learnt how to use countless gismos and gadgets as part of his black operatives training, he just preferred not to if he had a choice in the matter.

Yes, definitely Daniel's computer. It was safer than Carter's – she would try to teach him and the whole enterprise would end up taking twice as long than if he used his own. Daniel's office was also the least dangerous environment for a Colonel who had trouble keeping his inquisitive hands out of trouble. Each room was packed floor to ceiling with 'toys' that just begged for Jack to fiddle with, push around, and intermittently juggle. As least in Daniel's office he was fairly confident that if he dropped something it was unlikely to detonate (unless one counted Daniel himself exploding with fury).

That would all have to wait to later though, Jack reflected, because General Hammond was being summoned, rather loudly in fact, to the infirmary, and SG-1 of course would accompany him.

In the glass Jack could see his reflection staring back at him with a puzzled expression. His mirror image double was looking baffled because Jack himself couldn't remotely understand the scene in front of him. On the other side of the pane, past the faint image himself, lay one of the infirmaries three operating theatres cum observation rooms.

It was in fact the same one Sergeant Hayward had been in only the night before, and there were many similar aspects to the scene that had greeted him then as well. The bustling medical personnel, Doctor Fraiser wafting in with a threatening snap of her rubber gloves. General Hammond, Carter, Daniel and Teal'c standing alongside him, waiting once again for Doctor Fraiser's report on the situation.

The man on the bed had what might have once been a white, and now rather bloodstained, sheet draped across his loins and down to his knees. His chest, peppered with gaping bullet holes, had been left on clear display. What Jack couldn't understand why there was so much medical attention for someone who was quite obviously very, very, very dead? But after further careful observation, Jack realised that there was something bothering him about the sight even more.

Hands in pockets, Jack turned to Doctor Fraiser.

"Since when did we put corpses in restraints?"


	5. Chapter Four

**Disclaimer: see Prologue**

**CHAPTER FOUR**

**13:03 AUGUST 8**

The computer screens arrayed in the back of the dark blue surveillance van showed live feed from seven different cameras simultaneously. Two of them displayed the view from the exterior of the van itself, directed across the large parking lot towards the two main entrances of the multiplex. Three were showing CTV footage from within the building, and the last two were picking up images from a pair of Airmen with hidden cameras weaving their way through the crowds of Saturday shoppers.

The Airmen were under instructions to point their cameras at as many of the young blonde women as they could find. Jack, watching patiently in the back of the van for a glimpse of face he recognised, thought that the men might be enjoying their assignment a little too much. He was, of course, waiting for Buffy Summers. They knew she was there because according to her credit card she'd recently brought lunch in a small bistro on the second floor. Also, her car was parked about twenty spaces away, neatly tagged with a tracking device.

An olive hat pulled down over his forehead, disguising his unusual tattoo, Teal'c leant across in front of Carter with a thin cardboard box in his outstretched hand and offered Jack another doughnut. Jack declined with a slight shake of his head, his eyes never leaving the screens, shifting constantly from one to another, quickly dismissing candidate after candidate until finally he saw a possible positive ID.

"Alpha two," he said clearly into the headset, "this is control. Target at eleven o'clock, accompanied by the taller brunette: see if you can get a closer visual."

He really hoped they'd finally located Summers. After the events of the day before Jack knew the SGC was yet again in a sticky situation and could do with all the help it could get, especially from someone who evidently knew what they were dealing with…

"Since when did we put corpses in restraints?"

"Watch," Doctor Fraiser replied, her eyes fixed firmly on the hive of activity below.

Jack's exclamation of 'Geez' had been overlaid with Carter's 'Holy Hannah!" along with a collection of sharp hissing intakes of breath as, almost before Fraiser had finished speaking, the body moved of its own accord. Jack's mouth hung open unashamedly. More than moved in fact, it lunged at a nearby nurse, who, regardless of the thick, sturdy straps holding him in place, darted timidly away.

"Three Airmen discovered him trying to break his way out of the morgue. They managed to… subdue him and raise the alert," Fraiser informed them.

"Interesting definition of subdue," Daniel muttered from behind Jack's right shoulder.

"What in God's name are we looking at?" said General Hammond, leaning forward to view the scene with greater scrutiny. The body, after lying still again for a few moments strained against the leather fettering it to the bed, back and head arching back until Jack got a clear look at the upside down face; extended teeth bared in a wordless snarl.

Jack's jaw clenched as his heart missed a beat, his hands bunching into fists where they were hidden beneath the cloth of his pants pockets. He didn't need to get any closer; he could see all he wanted to from where he was. The body on the bed was that of the second pathologist murdered by the escaping SG-14 the previous night. Eyes that had been lifeless as they stared up at Jack only hours before were now yellow and full of rage. Jack's stomach twisted disconcertingly. The face looked like that of Captain Samuels.

"I couldn't even guess, General," said Fraiser shaking her head, her lips pursed in frustration. "What I can tell you is that he has no discernable pulse and doesn't need to breathe. I won't know much more until I've had time to run further tests but we're measuring extraordinary levels of brain activity, and he's still alert and aggressive despite being pumped with enough sedative to take out an entire SG team."

"What's with the face lift?" Jack asked.

"He's been like that ever since they found him," replied Fraiser. "The amazing thing is that there has actually been a physical change to the bone structure."

"Sweet." Jack made a face.

"How does this compare to SG-14?" said General Hammond.

"The nature of his wounds were identical to that of Brooks, Samuels and Parker, and with respect to the video footage that's been analysed I'd say that his condition is highly congruent with theirs."

If Jack closed his eyes, he could almost feel the Captain's hand pushing his neck against the pillar, the deformed head sinking down closer and closer – could image those ugly, pointed teeth piercing the tender flesh of his throat above the rushing river of life blood that flowed through his jugular.

Looking down at the scene before him and reliving the vivid memories of his confrontation with the homicidal Captain, the pieces started falling neatly into place in his mind; an unfamiliar and strange experience for Jack. He had completely misinterpreted the situation in that dark, treacherous basement: Samuels hadn't been trying to kill him, not ultimately anyway – he'd been trying to spread whatever it was that had been brought back through the gate.

"Um, where's the other one?" queried Daniel, his tone thoughtful and worried.

"The other pathologist? He's dead… at least, we're fairly certain he's dead," Fraiser added in response to the multitude of dubious looks her statement received.

"What's the status of Sergeant Hayward?" asked Carter, her arms wrapped with reassuring tightness around her ribs.

"He's still in shock," answered Fraiser. "Doctor McKenzie hasn't managed to get through to him about precisely what happened to them off world yet. We've got him under close supervision though, and so far he doesn't appear to be suffering from any strange side effects."

"Makes sense…" Daniel said softly.

"I'm sorry?"

"Mark not being like the rest of them," added Daniel, pushing his glasses further up his nose with his index finger. "Think about it," he explained to the blank faces pointed his way, "what's the one thing he," Daniel nodded at the 'deceased' pathologist, "and the other three members of SG-14 have… had, in common?"

"They all pushed up the daises on a considerably less permanent nature than normal?" Jack facetiously offered.

"Correct…"

"I am?"

"… there are examples of myths throughout many cultures that tell of creatures in human form capable of rising from the dead that aren't necessarily attributable to the Goa'uld," Daniel said, his expression growing more intense by the second.

"Do you refer to the Tauri's legends of Vampyr, Daniel Jackson?" asked Teal'c.

"That's one possible interpretation, yes."

"Oh come on!" drawled Jack, wondering who the hell supplied Teal'c with his reading material.

"You have to admit that with the fangs and the whole ne–"

Jack rolled his eyes. "Let's go the whole hog then shall we? How about a day out down-town to buy crosses and garlic for all the pretty nurses?"

"I believe holy water is reputed to be extremely effective," Teal'c said helpfully.

"Okay then," said Daniel, looking a little annoyed, "what's your theory, Jack?"

"SG-14 just got back from an 'alien' planet, halfway across the galaxy where, if I might remind you, they'd been missing for over a month. God only knows what could have happened to them!"

"And whatever that was, it's obviously contagious," said Carter.

"General, I counted nearly twenty bullet holes in that man's chest, and he still kept moving – the wounds are regenerating even now…" Fraiser's perplexed voice faded away as something struck a chord in Jack's memory: something about guns and petite women.

A disdainful expression accompanied by a pointing finger towards his berretta and the words 'they don't work…' Jack also recalled his pint-sized rescuer saying 'that's the problem with you guys…' What had becoming worryingly apparent as he played over what had occurred between her and his assailant, was that Buffy Summers, whoever she was and whomever she'd been working for – Jack was betting heavily on the NID – she'd known far too much about what Captain Samuels was… had become.

"… we have no idea what we're dealing with, or how to stop this spreading."

"Oh, I wouldn't say that, Doc," Jack said nonchalantly.

"How w-what do you mean?"

"More of a whom," he replied cryptically to the small woman staring up at him with bewildered brown eyes, "and I'll need Carter to help me track her down…"

Buffy Anne Summers. Former resident of Sunnydale, California.

American citizen.

Or was she?

If she had been involved with the NID and their brief escapades with the second Earth Stargate then possibilities were practically endless, thought Jack. Why else would the President find it necessary to stress that she was an American citizen? She wasn't Goa'uld for certain, but 'alien' couldn't quite be ruled out…

Jack found that he was holding his breath as he watched the picture on the far right hand screen float jerkily towards the young woman and her companion. The Airman approached them from the opposite direction so that the camera got a clear view of both females in passing as they strolled idly along the outermost edge of the wide mall. The first thing that struck Jack was that the blonde was smiling and laughing with the dark-haired girl at her side. Her happy, relaxed demeanour, coupled with the bustle of shoppers around her created a sight that couldn't have been more different from the intense, focussed and morose woman he'd encountered only ten hours ago. But Jack knew, without a doubt, that this woman was one and the same.

"Yeah, right there," he told the three expectant faces watching him, tapping the hard surface of the screen on top of the blonde's face, frozen in time under his index finger. "Alpha two, this is control. Stay with her; I'm coming in."

Jack turned to Carter, who handed him a small flesh coloured earpiece – identical to those worn by the airmen – without a word. Jack eased it into his ear, jiggling it until he was sure it was securely in place.

"One Goa'uld, two Goa'uld, three Goa'uld…"

"You're good to go, Sir," said Carter, after deftly adjusting the sensitivity range on the receiver on the equipment panel in front of her.

Jack retrieved his sunglasses from the top pocket of his leather jacket, then squeezed his way to the back of the van and opened the doors, letting daylight flood into the back of the small enclosure.

"See you later, kids," he said jovially as he dropped carefully out onto the sun-warmed asphalt.

"Um, Jack…"

"Yeah, I know: no harassment," Jack said, shrugging off Daniel's concern and flashing them all a 'no worries' grin as he closed the van doors. "I'll just have to be very persuasive…" he muttered, slipping on the sunglasses against the glare and striding purposefully towards the mall.

In the gloom of the van, Daniel turned to Carter.

"Why do I have the feeling this is a bad idea?"

**13:15 AUGUST 8**

Buffy, unlike Jack O'Neill, hadn't been musing constantly on the previous nights events for the last ten hours. After a short list of sharply spoken expletives she'd put the whole incident out of her mind as she'd jogged back to the motel. It had been almost four in the morning by the time she'd returned to bed, sliding washed skin between now refreshingly cool sheets and snuggling down into a newly puffed pillow to sleep, confident that the 'dream window' of three thirty-seven had been avoided.

Guns. They were the one weapon Buffy was not comfortable with. Rocket launchers and bombs of the home-made variety weren't a problem, but guns were something she stayed clear of wherever possible. Aside from being useless on the un-dead, they belonged to the real world. The reality without demons and other nasty creatures that did more than just go 'bump' in the night. They belonged to the daytime where humans murdered humans, where in one split second your best friend loses her lover and you take a bullet in the chest. Which was why, when confronted with a stranger waving a handgun around, Buffy had been less than inclined to dive into the ensuing fight.

The fact that her delay in intervening had almost cost the man his life had irritated Buffy, and she'd come away from the fight feeling unsettled and off-balance. The man, despite the grey in his hair, was obviously military – Buffy had been able to tell that before the vampire had addressed him as 'Colonel', but even so, he had been completely unable to defend himself against the unexpectedly swift attack.

After the fight, Buffy had checked that the man wasn't too badly injured and made her escape as soon as she'd heard help arriving in the form of the site watchman. She hadn't been able to get away fast enough, swearing as she'd run east, working the intense feeling of uncertainty out of her system until she'd forgotten all but the exhilaration of the fight, the sound of her heart pounding relentlessly in her chest and the perfect clarity of the moment when she knew she'd won.

No, the man she'd saved from having his body drained of blood had occupied precisely none of her thoughts.

Until now…

"So, I've been thinking," said Dawn as she happily ambled along beside Buffy.

"Dare I ask what about?" Buffy asked with mock caution as her younger sister took a noisy slurp from her carton of cola through a white and yellow striped straw.

The man that had sauntered past them a few moments ago had now changed direction, and was now walking with them on the far side of the mall. This, in itself, was not highly suspicious behaviour to Buffy, after all, shoppers regularly chose to walk in more than one direction in a mall, but there was something not quite right about 'this' shopper; something not quite right about the way he kept pace with them even when it mean he was going against the flow of people around him. Overriding the voice inside that said she was being paranoid, Buffy let her senses rule her judgement and surreptitiously guided Dawn towards the exit.

"What you can do now you're not the 'one and only' anymore."

"Oh?"

"You could write a Slayer handbook."

Buffy frowned at her sister. "According to Giles there's one already – not that he ever showed it to 'me'," she added cantankerously.

"No, I mean 'for Slayers, by _the_ Slayer'," explained Dawn. "You could write guides on how to maintain a manicure while carving your own stakes, and give tips on removing demon slime from everyday materials." Dawn grinned mischievously and slipped her arm through Buffy's. "Top ten dos and don'ts when boinking the un-dead…"

"Dawn…" Buffy gasped, reprimanding her with a shocked, but also privately amused look. There's no way she'd been this uncouth as a teenager, had she?

"It could be like your memoirs!"

"Hey, I haven't finished living yet…" Buffy retorted distractedly.

Across the crowd of shoppers she had been watching the man watching them, or rather, pretending 'not' to watch them. Noting with growing unease the way he turned his whole body and not just his head towards them, angling the bag he carried unmistakably in their direction, the way his haircut was just a little too short; too regimental; too military.

It wasn't really much of a surprise when, not a minute later, she spotted the slightly limping gait of a tall, grey-haired man entering through the very automatic doors she'd been aiming for. He pulled off his sunglasses, leaving them swinging from a strap around his neck while he quickly scanned the crowds, stopping dark brown eyes on none other than her…

Buffy's stomach tightened as she realised he was going to try and talk to her. It was the last thing she wanted, especially with Dawn as an audience. Taking full advantage of Dawn's arm looped through hers, Buffy sped up the pace and swept past the open mouthed Colonel, hissing the words 'not here' at him before he had a chance to form a single word.

They stepped out into the summer sun, too hot and humid after the air conditioned mall, and headed down the long lines of Minivans and SUVs. Buffy heard hurried footfalls behind them and glanced over her shoulder to see the Colonel grimacing as he jogged to catch up, falling in beside her with an amiable smile.

"So, where is it?" he asked, squinting down at her.

"Where's what?" Buffy replied innocently, not returning his gaze. She kept walking fast towards their rental car, dragging a confused Dawn in her wake.

"The weapon you used last night," the man helpfully clarified.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Buffy, who is this?"

"Jack O'Neill, two l's," the man introduced himself, holding a hand out to Dawn. She didn't take it.

Buffy glared at 'Jack O'Neill' and smartly veered down a narrow gap between two SUV's, shepherding Dawn before her and ignoring her sister's quizzical looks.

"You're not from around here, are you?" the man over the canvas top of a convertible.

Buffy stopped dead in her tracks. "What's that got to do with it?" she asked warily.

"What about you, miss?" he said, turning his attention once again to Dawn.

"Hey, you keep her out of this," Buffy growled.

"Buffy?"

"Dawn, get in the car," Buffy ordered, digging in her shoulder bag and passing Dawn the keys.

"Why aren't–"

"I'll explain later, just do as I say," Buffy said in a firm voice, her eyes not leaving the dark brown ones fixed on her over someone's mid-life crisis of a car.

Buffy heaved a sigh of relief when Dawn nodded, leaving reluctantly and threading her way between the remaining vehicles between them and their car. As the car door slammed meaningfully, effectively isolating Dawn from their conversation, Buffy crossed her arms and raised a challenging eyebrow at the man.

"I want some answers."

"You won't like them," Buffy replied, "so I suggest you–"

"That man was–"

"No longer a 'man', Colonel whoever-you-are," she snapped, cutting off his outburst, "and I saved your ass last night, so back the hell off!"

The man's eyes narrowed. "You used what I suspect was a highly illegal weapon in front of me, and you think I'm just going to let it go!"

Buffy snorted; he could suspect what he liked as far as she was concerned. "Yes."

"Exactly… WHAT?"

Good, Buffy smiled. He was getting flustered.

"Look," she said with icy calmness, "I didn't know you were going to turn up, but the least you could do is show me some gratitude – if not, leave me alone, I haven't got time for this."

"I'll admit you might have–"

"Oh please," Buffy rolled her eyes at his grudging tone and turned to leave.

"Miss–"

"What the hell do you want from me?" Buffy spun round to face him, her temper finally breaking.

The man took a step back, surprised at her ferocity. "Your help."

"Sure," Buffy snapped, her voice oozing with dangerous sarcasm. "I know, you could do some experiments on me, and then perhaps round off the whole thrilling experience by trying to kill me and all my friends. When can we get started, I can't wait?"

"Oh for crying out loud, what is your problem?"

"I don't play well with the military," Buffy growled.

"Well, ma'am," replied the man, matching her sarcasm drip for drip. "Maybe it's about time you learnt!"

Anger surged through Buffy and she snarled back at the man. "This stops now. You come near me or my sister I'll make you wish I hadn't been there last night." And with that, she shot him one last dagger infused glare and turned her back on him.

"There are more like him," he called after her.

"You think I don't know that!" Buffy laughed incredulously at his statement.

To her relief he didn't follow this time; just stood staring after her with a mystified expression. A relief which lasted a full ten seconds until Buffy realised that there was no way in the world that Dawn was going to let what had just happened drop.

"You've been slaying?"

Why did that question make her feel like a naughty child, caught with her hand in the cookie jar?

Buffy glanced over at Dawn sitting beside her in the passenger seat, her hands clasped tightly together in her lap, her eyes staring blankly out of the windscreen. It was the first time Dawn had spoken in nearly twenty minutes and Buffy had been more than willing to let her silence ride between them.

"Yes." Pretending otherwise would have been pointless given what had happened back in the parking lot, let alone a grave insult to Dawn's intelligence.

She signalled in preparation for their exit, her eyes flickering back and forth between the rear view mirror and the road being swiftly sucked under the bonnet in front. This was neither the time nor the place for this conversation, but, her hand having been forced by the Colonel's persistence and horrendous bad timing, Buffy had given Dawn the highlights of the previous night's slayings, and her encounter with the pushy Colonel and his former subordinate on the building site.

Dawn did not look happy. At all…

"When?"

"At night?"

"No. How long?" Dawn impatiently rephrased the question.

"Not long, I swear."

"You didn't say anything… You didn't think I'd want to help? God, Buffy, we talked about this?"

Buffy's fingers curled tightly around the steering wheel in response to the anger in Dawn's words. She'd known it would be like this: Dawn seeing her secrecy as a direct affront, a judgement of her abilities, a betrayal of the recently found equality between them. There hadn't been a conscious decision to break the unspoken agreement between them – by the time Buffy had made her choice it'd already been too late and she hadn't known how to broach the subject after that. No, that was a lie. She'd been scared. Scared to reveal the extent of what she'd been keeping from Dawn; her nightmares, the truth behind their ending up in Colorado Springs of all places, and what the Powers wanted from her… again.

'Just you and me,' she'd told Dawn, squeezing her sister's hand tightly as the plane had banked in it's effortless climb away from Los Angeles, rising up from the haze of pollution and sweltering heat that encased the city in the height of summer, 'just two normal sisters, taking a normal vacation.'

"Road trip!' Dawn had squealed excitedly, earning winces from the passengers nearest them.

It had been an understanding between them that this was indeed a 'vacation', not just from California, but from their lives and the turmoil of the past months that had threatened to destroy the bond between them. Decisions would be made together, as a family – albeit a small one. The decision to rejoin Giles and the others in Ohio, or alternatively to leave their old life permanently behind them and start anew, would be one agreed by both.

"Do you have that little faith in me?" Dawn continued, twisting her hands in her lap angrily. "I know I'm not one of your Potentials and will never be a Slayer, but that doesn't mean you can cut me out. I can hold my own; I thought I'd proved that?"

"I… Dawnie…" Buffy floundered for the right words, barely able to concentrate on driving. She could feel Dawn's glaring eyes boring a hole through her skull. "I was just trying to–"

"Protect me?" Dawn spat the word disdainfully, not waiting for Buffy to finish her sentence. "What happened to 'I don't want to protect you from the world, I want to show it to you'? You can't just turn me on and off when it's convenient for you!"

Away from the benevolent guidance of her Watcher for the past two years, coupled with being the only active Slayer, Buffy had gotten so used to pulling all the shots that she barely noticed when she was pushing others away anymore. It was a mechanism she'd perfected in her late teens: protecting those around her in a warped way by excluding their participation in the struggle she saw as ultimately hers and hers alone.

"I don't want to risk you, Dawn." Hypocrite, a small voice jeered at her from within.

"Oh, but it's fine when the world's hanging in the balance?" Dawn challenged in an icy tone.

"That's different," argued Buffy, pulling off the main road onto the motel forecourt and nudging the car into a parking space.

"Not it's not! You risked Willow and Xander all the time."

"Yes, I did," Buffy snapped back, "but for one they are not my kid sister, and second, look what it cost them!"

"And look what it cost you!" Dawn retorted.

"Your point?"

"You just dived straight back in – you of all people. You have a chance to walk away forever, live the life you've always wanted where you don't have to risk your life every night for a calling you never chose."

"You're right," Buffy said gently, turning off the engine, "I didn't choose it."

"Then stop!" Dawn burst in. Buffy laid a hand across Dawn's tangled fingers to silence her.

"I didn't choose it, it chose me. I figured something out Dawn: just because there are others like me now doesn't mean I stop being 'me'. I want to stop being the Slayer – nothing would make me happier than to live a normal life – but having seen what I've seen and having the power to do something I can't just sit back and do nothing."

"You can change – lots of people change, they do it all the time."

"Not me Dawn," Buffy said in a low voice, her words barely audible over the roar of traffic from the highway behind them. She rested her hands on the wheel and stared out of the windscreen at the drab façade of the motel.

"Then let me help."

"I can't." Buffy turned her head to look at Dawn, noting the way her shoulders were tensed tightly, the way her hands were clenched together, fingers interlaced, that her knuckles showed white. "If you got hurt it would be my fault – I couldn't live with myself if that happened."

"And you don't think I feel the same way?" Dawn snapped. With a sudden movement, she twisted in her seat to face Buffy, gazing at her with intense, tear-filled eyes that seemed to hold hers in a desperate grip so that she couldn't have looked away even if she'd wanted to. "Buffy," she said with a tremble in her voice, "please don't do this. Can't we keep things as they are… were. Can't we live in a world where I'm not the key and you're my normal, regular big sister? I don't want to wonder if you're coming back each night…"

"Of course I'll come back," Buffy said reflexively, knowing the lie shone clearly on her face.

Dawn's eyes flashed with anger. "I'm not a kid anymore – I know how this works."

"I… I'm sorry."

"I can't watch you fight and not do something. Either let me help, or stay with me." Dawn's voice choked with uncontained emotion. "I've lost you before and I don't think I can do it again…"

Buffy reached over and brushed the tears away from Dawn's right cheek, her eyes filling of their own accord until her sister's image blurred behind a wall of fluid.

"I can't…"

With a loud sob, Dawn jerked herself away from Buffy's caress and grabbed the bag off the back seat. From it she retrieved the motel key card with shaking fingers before yanking the car door open and plunging out into the afternoon heat. Buffy watched her go, feeling her throat tighten with emotion and the warmth of a trickle of salt water as it crawled slowly over her skin towards her jaw. Laying her head back against the seat rest, Buffy stared hazily up at the car roof and clenched her hands into tight balls.

"Haven't you taken enough from me?"

She spoke aloud, knowing the Powers weren't listening; knowing that they never listened.

"Haven't I lost enough?"

Buffy had thought so, before the Powers had called upon her once again.

Now she knew; it would never be enough.

She'd lost her childhood and innocence long ago, but she didn't mourn their passing as much as the people she'd lost over the years. Her first love had been taken from her not once, but twice. First when she'd been forced to send him to hell to prevent the awakening of the demon Acathla, second when he'd left, knowing he was a liability to her duty as the Slayer. In one year alone she'd lost not only Riley and her mother, but her life. After she'd been torn out of heaven she'd fought to regain and hold onto her sanity through the madness that followed, and had found solace and comfort in Spike, only to lose him in the battle against the First Evil.

In fact, the only thing her duty as the Slayer had ever given her was Dawn.

Dawn: sent to her for protection, to be kept safe. It seemed a cruel irony that through trying to do just that, she'd lose her for good.

It seemed to Buffy that within all the stories she'd ever heard the ultimate reward for one's deeds was that the baddies got their comeuppance, and the long suffering 'cinderella' got the 'lived happily ever after' scenario. After having already experimented, albeit briefly, with option one, dying to save everything and everyone she loved, couldn't she at least try the second, much more preferable, option? Could she and Dawn ever live 'happily ever after', or was that really just in fairytales and not for Slayers at all?

Would the last 'one and only' Slayer be allowed a happy ending, and if it wasn't given to her, did she have the right to 'take' it?

Dawn was the most important thing in Buffy's life; that was the one thing she was totally sure of. Time and again she had proved she would do anything to protect her, indeed, Dawn had been given to Buffy 'to' protect. Even though Glory was dead and the key supposedly inactive, didn't she still have the right to 'live' for her, rather than die?

"Death is your gift," Buffy whispered the words of the first Slayer to the empty car and closed her eyes tight, hot tears squeezed from under her lids.

Not any more, the thought came to her suddenly. Death is 'our' gift. Maybe that was the reward she'd received after all these years; the burden once shouldered by one, now shared by many? Was it selfish to wonder if that having carried it alone for eight years she had the right to pass responsibility to another? A Slayer had a duty to the Powers, battling the forces of darkness until death released her. Did the fact that she'd died twice already present a loophole to be exploited? Could she give up everything that she was for Dawn's happiness?

Buffy sniffed and wiped the moisture from her face. She leaned across the passenger seat and pulled the open door shut before collecting her bag and following in her sister's footsteps.

She found the door to the motel room ajar and let herself in quietly, setting her bag down softly on the dresser. Dawn was laying in a ball in the middle of her bed, facing the wall, her body shaking with silent tears. Buffy's heart broke, unable to hold herself apart any longer. She crossed the room and sat down on the edge of the bed behind Dawn. She stroked her sister's hair gently, following its path as it flowed across her shoulders; millions of brown, long, slender strands.

"Dawn?"

"What?" Dawn hunched away from Buffy's touch, her voice angry with tears.

"How would you like to become the first official sponsor for Slayer Anonymous?"


	6. Chapter Five

**Disclaimer: see Prologue**

**CHAPTER FIVE**

**09:43 AUGUST 10**

When Jack arrived at the General's office he found the General on the telephone deep in conversation. Rather than interrupt him, Jack perched on the end of the briefing room table to take the weight off his knee and closed his eyes.

To say that his last two days had been busy was a gross understatement. In his position of second in command at the SGC he had been helping oversee the search for the two compromised members of SG-14, and was growing more and more frustrated with their lack of success. The Major and Lieutenant had just disappeared into thin air. None of their bank accounts had been touched, they hadn't been spotted at any airport, military or civilian, and neither of them had been in contact with their families.

But that was nothing compared to his frustration over a certain questionable Californian blonde. Jack was still feeling particular sore about that – especially the rumour that had begun to circulate the base about him being a 'damsel in distress' and having to be rescued by petite girls.

He'd eventually found the time to print off a few pages about the Sunnydale disaster two months ago and had been even more puzzled after his brief foray into research mode than before. A whole town knowingly built on a network of unstable underground tunnels and caves? In a geographical location known for earthquakes? The question wasn't why had it happened, but rather, why hadn't it happened a lot sooner? And, if no one had reported pre-quake tremors of any kind, why had the whole town up and deserted like rats from a sinking ship just before the disaster? Why hadn't any other town nearby experienced an earthquake? The whole thing stank, Jack had decided, suspicious of the fact that the outcry over the Sunnydale story had died down so quickly. Weren't there supposed to be ongoing investigations or something? Then again, given the fact that the death toll had been minimal, rather than numbering in the thousands it should have been, maybe people were not willing to question their good luck.

Jack would have been pulling his hair out if he'd had any to spare.

At zero two hundred that morning he'd relinquished command to Colonel Reynolds and retired to his quarters where he'd tossed and turned for what had seemed like forever until sleep had reluctantly granted him a brief respite.

Jack rapped lightly on the wall with his knuckles when he saw the General had finished his call. At the noise, General Hammond looked up from his desk and beckoned Jack in with a wave of his hand.

"Come in, Colonel. I was just about to send for you," he said, closing down the lid of his computer as Jack entered.

"Then I'm glad I saved you the trouble," Jack said mildly, shutting the door behind him and crossing the room with only a hint of a limp to stand before the General's desk, his hands slipping habitually into the pockets of his pants.

"Take a seat," General Hammond ordered. "How's the knee?"

"It's fine, really, good as new," Jack lied, gratefully pulling up one of the spare chairs the General kept for visitors. General Hammond smiled knowingly, and restrained himself from commenting on the slight wince that crossed Jack's face as he sat down.

"Any word from Miss Summers?"

"Squat – not that that's a surprise," Jack replied sourly.

"It's a pity," the General remarked ponderously.

Jack felt a twinge of guilt, wishing that his approach to the woman hadn't gone so spectacularly badly. He'd tried to be polite and diplomatic but she'd irritated the hell out of him when she'd refused to even give him the time of day, let alone hear him out, and he'd stupidly lost his temper. General Hammond had been amazingly accepting of the whole incident, reasoning that the woman would have doubtless behaved the same in response to any method of approach, but Daniel had been giving him reproachful looks all weekend… It had been a very long weekend.

"By the way, Colonel," General Hammond continued, "I'd like Airmen Winters and Green returned to their normal duties." He fixed Jack with a stern look.

"Sir?" Jack said innocently.

"I give you a lot of leeway, Colonel, but I don't appreciate you commandeering the personnel of this base for unsanctioned operations. The surveillance of Miss Summers goes against a direct order from the President of the United States – need I say more?"

"I wouldn't exactly call what they're doing harassment, General…"

"Many would," barked General Hammond, but his manner softened a little as he continued, "and please bear in mind that I haven't said anything about the tracking device you installed on her car, or the bugs in her–"

"Thank you, Sir," Jack interrupted quickly, "much appreciated. I'll have Winters and Green recalled immediately."

"Now," General Hammond said, briskly changing the subject, "in light of this morning's news I've stepped up the search for Major Brooks and Lieutenant Parker." Jack leaned forward to take the paper the General was proffering, unfolding it across his lap. "SG teams three, twelve and fifteen are liaising with local law enforcement until further notice – hopefully we can avoid a mass panic."

Jack's eyes flittered quickly across the front page of the tabloid for the second time that morning. "You think the disappearances are connected? Bit of a leap, Sir?"

Hammond shook his head. "Major Carter doesn't think so, and neither does Major Davis."

"The Pentagon's involved, already?"

"I don't think you appreciate the seriousness of the situation, Colonel. Four employees of this facility have apparently risen from the dead…"

"Point," Jack conceded, sliding the paper back on top of the desk. "Doc Fraiser gotten any closer to figuring that one out yet?" he asked.

"Unfortunately not: she's having just about as much success as anyone around here," General Hammond said tiredly. "We've communicated the details to the Tokra, but they didn't recognise the symptoms – if you can call them that. In fact, they've asked if they can send Anise through to observe our 'patient', and I think Fraiser's so stumped on this one she might actually accept."

"Oh, just what we need," Jack groaned dramatically. "Can this day get any worse?"

As he spoke there was a precise knock on the door from the corridor entrance, and Sergeant Davis entered in response to the General's order.

"General Hammond, Sir, Senator Kinsey has arrived. Would you like me to show him in?"

"Why, why oh why do I ever open my mouth…"

**12.52 AUGUST 10**

The café was surprisingly busy, the down-town lunch hour traffic descending in hordes. Barely a table was unoccupied and flustered looking waitresses hurried from customer to customer, taking orders and serving food and drink at breakneck speed. At a small table near the entrance facing the bar, Buffy sat and stared out of the window onto Nevada Avenue, absently twining a strand of long blonde hair around her fingers. She tuned out the bustle around her, and alone with her thoughts concentrated on watching the passers by as the crossed her line of vision. She hadn't caught sight of the two men who'd been trailed after her and Dawn over the weekend since mid-morning, and she wondered if they'd finally given up or had just gotten better at making them selves invisible. Thinking of Dawn…

Buffy's shoulder bag was lying on the table and she opened it to pull out her cell phone and check the display. Still no messages. Buffy felt a surge of annoyance that Dawn hadn't bothered to call to say she'd be late meeting her for lunch. She'd probably gotten side-tracked by clothes shopping or something and forgotten to watch the clock. It wouldn't have been the first time. Returning the phone, Buffy's hand brushed against a small slip of square paper tucked inside the top of the bag, knocking it to the floor. Her suspicion that it had been planted there was confirmed when on picking up the paper she found it nearly identical to the note that had been pushed under the motel room door when she and Dawn had been at dinner the previous evening. After swiftly removing them from Dawn's sight before she'd noticed them, Buffy had forgotten about them, determined to keep her promise. She turned over the note and reread the now familiar scrawl of blue ink that ran across its surface.

IF YOU CHANGE YOUR MIND LEAVE A MESSAGE FOR COLONEL O'NEILL ON

719 724 9712

Her mouth pursed in irritation and she curled her fingers into the palm of her hand, crumpling the note into a tight wad before dropping it on the table with a disdainful air. He should have realised by now she wasn't going to play ball, though if anything, she was surprised he hadn't tried stronger tactics since the incident in the parking lot – after the Initiative, just being watched continually was rather tame in comparison.

"Would you like to order, Ma'am?"

"Hmm, sorry?" said Buffy, glancing up to see a falsely cheerful waitress standing over her, pen paused expectantly above a small pad.

"What would you like to eat?"

"I'm waiting for someone," Buffy explained for the second time since she'd arrived, gesturing at the empty seat opposite her. She gave the waitress an apologetic smile.

Once again left alone, Buffy turned her attention to the interior of the café, reading the advertisements posted on the walls. There were the usual flyers promoting local heath clubs and weightloss clinics, intermingled with offers of aromatherapy and miracle drugs, 'just five dollars a week for the first month, then both your arms and possibly your right leg…' Above the menu board was a wide screen television turned to a music station, blaring out the latest hits over several strategically placed speakers. Buffy watched a woman with spiky blue hair and no dress sense jump up and down shouting something undecipherable into the microphone before growing bored and staring back out of the window. Her stomach growled hungrily. She hoped Dawn would appear before she died of starvation, either that or the waitress told her to order something or leave. Given the annoyed looks she was getting from the woman operating the till, it wouldn't be long.

Dividing their forces to shop this morning had been Dawn's idea, and Buffy had hesitantly agreed. Partly because Dawn was being secretive about what she wanted to buy, giving Buffy the suspicion that it would be in her interest to give Dawn some space, but mostly because Buffy was interested to see what their pair of tails would do. As Buffy had hoped, rather than dividing their forces and follow Dawn on her jaunt, they'd both stuck with her and followed her all round down-town 'Springs.

As the hour reached one o'clock, the incessant stream of popular music mercifully halted and changed to a round up of the local news and weather. Buffy wasn't an active Slayer anymore, but she still possessed her Slayer hearing, and picked up the news-readers words over the reverberant commotion of commerce.

'_Police are continuing to search for seventeen year-old Stephan Howard after he was reported missing on Saturday by his parents after a friend's birthday party. His family are appealing for anyone with knowledge of Stephan's whereabouts to come forward. State Officials are still maintaining that there is no connection between this case and the abduction of an Italian student in Manitou Springs yesterday. The abduction, believed to be a kidnapping, happened in broad daylight at a local resort, shocking local residents and tourists alike. Witnesses described the kidnappers as Caucasian, but further identification was impossible as the armed men were wearing masks. A spokesperson for the police say a thorough investigation is under way, but that the kidnappers have yet to issue any ransom demands._

'_In other news, there is mounting concern for the welfare of a five year-old girl not seen since Saturday morning when she was picked up by her father. The police have not released any details yet, but we have heard that the girl's parents have been locked in a paternity battle for the past four months after what neighbours have described as a 'messy' divorce last year.'_

"Excuse me, is anyone sitting here?"

Buffy tore her eyes away from the television screen to stare blankly at a middle-aged man standing on the far side of her small table, one hand resting on the back of the empty chair opposite, the other balancing a cup of coffee and a sandwich.

"No, I'm going anyway," Buffy said, the decision made in an instant, rising quickly to her feet and picking up her bag in one smooth movement. On an impulse Buffy closed her fist around the scrap of paper littering the table, tucking it into the safety of her jeans pocket.

"I didn't mean to drive you away–"

"You didn't."

Hooking her bag over her right shoulder, Buffy stepped out onto the sidewalk and stared up and down the street, searching for a brunette head of hair bobbing her way. With no success ensuing, Buffy sighed, pulled out her cell phone again and brought up the recent call list. She thumbed the phone into action and tried not to pace back and forth as she waited for Dawn to reply. There was no answer, and it wasn't until Buffy lowered the phone and went to disconnect the call that she heard a familiar high pitched tone coming from somewhere to her right. Turning her head experimentally, Buffy localised the sound and moved towards the source, her still active phone momentarily forgotten. The sound, a regular, shrill beeping, was emanating from a narrow alley that ran between the café and the neighbouring establishment, or more precisely, Buffy found, from behind a row of rubbish dumpsters lined down one side.

Crouching down, Buffy picked up the slim, fold-up cell phone and felt a chill of fear shudder within her as she recognised it as the one she'd given Dawn as a going back to school present nearly a year before. It was half open on the ground, the outer casing scratched all down one side as though it had been crushed against a wall. Buffy rose slowly, looking all around herself for further signs of evidence, clues as to what had happened. Finding nothing, she turned off her phone, plunging the alley into relative silence, and stared thoughtfully at the triangular beams of sunlight slanting down its length.

"Dawn?" Buffy called, then fell silent, waiting for a reply that didn't come. "DAWN," she yelled, growing more worried, walking deeper into the alley more out of instinct than from any indication gained from her brief search of the immediate area. At a crash from beyond the end of the alley, Buffy broke into a run, slowing only as she rounded the corner into a small courtyard at the rear of the café.

The crash, it was evident, had come from a trashcan, now lying on its side, innards of rotting food spilling over the cracked paving slabs. It was what was standing behind the disembowelled bin that had Buffy reaching for the waistband of her jeans. Reaching for the stake that unfortunately wasn't there. Unfortunately, because the large figure of a man bearing the twisted, deformed features of a vampire was standing over her sister, who it seemed, had been partly responsible for the mess at her feet.

As the vampire advanced on the seemingly submissive Dawn, still crouching low against the ground, Buffy readied herself to intervene. But just as she was about to launch herself into the fight, she noticed Dawn's hand snaking surreptitiously behind herself to close around handle of the trashcan cover. Buffy raised an eyebrow, smiled, and ceded the floor to her sister.

With a nerveless patience that would have made even a veteran Slayer proud, Dawn waited until the vampire was practically on top of her before swinging the sharp rim of the metal disc into his knees and rolling away out of reach and scrambling to her feet. At his howl of anguish, Dawn bared her teeth with vicious satisfaction and dropped easily into a fighting stance. Buffy would have been swollen with pride if she hadn't been immensely annoyed that Dawn hadn't taken the opportunity to make a run for it. How many times had she told Dawn (as well as the potential Slayers) that the best attack sometimes was to run away. Very, very fast. Too many, Buffy sighed, and she still didn't listen…

The vampire lunged at Dawn with the finesse of a bulldozer charging a herd of sheep, missing her entirely as she dodged nimbly out of his way. While the vampire realised his mistake and collected himself, Dawn pushed the hair away from her eyes, damp with sweat brought on quickly from the intense heat and activity. In the next attack, Dawn wasn't so lucky. The vampire had grown more cautious, and while Dawn managed to duck under his blows and bring an elbow up against his gut, she didn't have the strength to execute the move properly and caught the tail-end of a fist on the side of the head, sending her staggering sideways with a faint grunt of pain. The hit hadn't dazed her though, and she dived out of the vampire's reach before he could follow up the move.

Deciding the fight had gone far enough, Buffy acted quickly, stamping her foot through a wooden pallet and picking out two suitable splinters of wood.

"Dawn!" she shouted, sending one of the improvised stakes spinning through the air towards her sister.

The look of relief in Dawn's eyes as she heard Buffy's cry was almost palpable, and she caught the stake awkwardly with both hands, moments before the vampire barrelled into her. Twisting round, Dawn muddled her feet with those of her attacker, causing the momentum to pitch them both inelegantly towards the ground with a thump. A cloud of dust burst over Dawn who lay stunned on her back for a moment, the stake held before her chest, before gagging and rolling over to cough hard.

Buffy was at her side in an instant, an arm around her sister's shoulders to help her sit up. As Dawn caught her breath, Buffy cupped Dawn's chin an angled her face to the light in order to take a closer look where she'd been hit. A red mark was blossoming along Dawn's cheekbone and Buffy knew it wouldn't be long before it began to swell and darken. She'd probably get a black eye with it, Buffy thought grimly.

"The skin isn't broken: you'll live," Buffy said, letting go and rocking back on her heels and frowning. "Hey, how come I'm not allowed to slay and you are?"

Dawn looked up nervously until she saw the amusement in Buffy's eyes and laughed sheepishly.

"You're unbelievable, Dawn," Buffy shook her head. "I turn my back for one moment and you get into trouble."

"And we're not in Sunnydale," Dawn grimaced. She took Buffy's outstretched hand and allowed herself to be pulled to her feet.

"Nice move though – if a little unorthodox," Buffy grinned, her expression fading to concern at Dawn's wince of pain. "You hurt?"

"My butt… it'll heal," replied Dawn, brushing the dirt off her pants with grazed hands. "How much did you see? Did you see where I dodged his attack? I had it all planned out – honestly."

"Right…" Buffy drawled, unconvinced, though she had to admit Dawn had done a competent job of looking after herself. "Still, you did better than that Colonel the other night – vamp took him out in less than a second. Although, to be fair, he didn't know what he was doing and it was pretty daaaa…"

"Buffy?"

Buffy's voice came out as almost a whisper. "It was dark."

After she'd decided to let Dawn fight her own battle as it were, Buffy had been concentrating so hard on making sure things didn't get out of hand that she hadn't stopped to consider that a vampire attack in broad daylight was unusual. Impossible. Dawn evidently had been so surprised and understandably scared at being yanked unexpectedly into an ally and forced to fight for her life, that the thought hadn't crossed her mind either.

"Impossible…" Buffy breathed.

Yet, in stark contradiction, the early afternoon sun beat unabated down on both her and Dawn.

"Gem of Amarah?"

"Staking wouldn't have worked if he had that, and Giles said there was only one, plus Angel said he'd destroyed it… oh…"

"What?" Dawn stared at the expressions of comprehension and anger that flooded Buffy's face.

Aside from magic there was only one group Buffy had come across that could alter a demon's capabilities; one that could create super demon/human/machine hybrids, or, less worryingly, render them harmless. Like Spike's chip did… The vampire didn't burn up in the sun; that didn't happen naturally. Someone had to have manipulated the demon in some way. What way, she didn't have a clue – that wasn't her area of expertise. The clue she was seeing however was the huge neon flashing sign above the empty space where the vampire had been that screamed 'INITIATIVE' in twenty foot high capital letters.

_Seventeen year-old … missing … no connection between this case and the abduction … kidnapping … **broad daylight **…** wearing masks**…_

Oh crap.

Buffy dug in her pocket and pulled out the crumpled slip of paper she'd stuffed in there only ten minutes ago and tossed it to Dawn.

"Remember Riley's friends?"

Dawn nodded and looked over at Buffy with sudden understanding.

"Buffy, promise me something?"

"What?"

Dawn held up the scrap of paper. "We do this together."

**13.49 AUGUST 10**

Ignoring the twinges of protest from his leg, Jack strode into the briefing room, coffee in hand, to find his team already assembled round the long table. Major Carter was pouring water from a decanter on the drinks trolley, her back to him as he entered. Daniel was leafing dispassionately through several pages of typed notes, and Teal'c was standing at the window, his hands clasped behind him, staring down on the Stargate in the Embarkation room below.

"Am I late?" Jack tapped his watch with a frown, nearly spilling his drink.

"No. We're still waiting on Doctor MacKenzie and Janet," Carter told him, sitting back down after leaning across the table to retrieve her notes from Daniel.

"Um, Jack?" said Daniel, swivelling his chair to face him. "I saw those two Airmen in the commissary just now." Daniel raised his eyebrows, obviously expecting Jack to know exactly which two Airmen out of a whole base crawling with them he was referring to.

"Oh yeah," Jack said, finally cottoning on. He sat down with a tired sigh and wondered briefly if he should be worried about the covetous way Daniel was eyeing his coffee. "Hammond wasn't too happy so I ordered them off; we've still got the bugs thought, right Carter?"

"Sort of…"

The coffee froze on its way to Jack's mouth. "Sort of?" he echoed.

Carter looked uncomfortable. "In the sense that they're physically installed, yes."

"And in the 'are they working' sense?" said Daniel.

"We've been having difficulty picking up a decent signal. There seems to be some unexpected interference with our equipment."

"What, like some sort of eavesdropping jamming gizmo?" said Jack, tapping the coffee mug with his index finger.

"That's what we thought originally," answered Carter, "but it turns out the interference is actually being caused by the scrambling function of another surveillance device at the frequencies–"

Jack cut her off with a pained expression accompanied by a wave of his hand. "Another surveillance device – I assume by that you mean not one of ours?"

Carter nodded.

"Then we are not the only ones interested in Buffy Summers," Teal'c stated, turning away from the window and crossing the room to join them at the table.

"You're kidding me?" Jack said disbelievingly.

Carter shook her head.

"So," said Daniel, leaning forward and staring seriously at Carter, "by our bugging her we've also inadvertently blocked the signal for the other buggers…" Daniel frowned, "…that came out wrong."

"Not necessarily. The equipment used sends out a transmission at a particular frequency but has the added capability of scrambling the adjacent frequencies to limit the signal being detected by anyone else. The bugs we used simply transmit a single frequency, unfortunately within this range, but the upshot of it is that anything we've installed has probably had no effect on their equipment," Carter explained.

"And we've alerted them to our interest in Summers," Jack stated into his coffee.

"In a nutshell, Sir: yes. With the added bonus that we don't know who 'them – they,' are."

"Well, this day just keeps getting better and better, doesn't it," Jack groaned, leaning back in his chair with an expression of resignation. "Teal'c, you wanna add anything?"

"I believe there is a shortage of pie until next Tuesday."

Carter smirked evilly across the table at Daniel.

"Thanks, Teal'c – very helpful."

Teal'c nodded slowly, a hint of a smile on his impassive, broad face.

"So, Daniel. You got anything on…" At the sound of feet on the stairs Jack let his voice trail off. He twisted round in his seat to watch the two tardy doctors descend the spiral steps, Fraiser following after MacKenzie, her arms laden with a set of dark blue official report folders. Jack waited until MacKenzie was facing him before looking pointedly at the clock. His various, and altogether too frequent, encounters with the Air Force Psychologist had left Jack with little good will towards the man, and Jack had no qualms about making the Doctor feel bad about keeping him waiting.

"Colonel O'Neill," said MacKenzie, acknowledging him with a tight nod. "Major, Doctor, Teal'c."

"Doctors," replied Jack, waving at them to sit down.

"Sorry about the delay," MacKenzie apologised, setting his briefcase down at the place next to Teal'c. "There was a hold up at the hospital; unavoidable I'm afraid."

"Is the General not attending?" asked Fraiser, having diplomatically taken the empty chair next to Daniel. That kept MacKenzie beyond arms reach of the archaeologist, but not out of glowering range, Jack noted.

Jack shook his head. "He's with Senator Kinsey until fourteen-thirty, keeping him… occupied. Shall we start?"

Doctor Fraiser nodded, rising slightly to pass round the folders. Jack flipped the cover of his open and made a face. Inside were several A4 size close-ups showing the injuries sustained by SG-14 as well as those inflicted on the two pathologists in full colour. He glanced over at Daniel and saw that the other man was evidently regretting his visit to the commissary.

"I've been able to make a preliminary study of the results gathered by Geller and Forbes before the attack," said Fraiser, extracting several prints from the remaining folder and arranging them on the table before her. "The cause of death was definitely loss of blood from the wounds on the neck area. The wound here," she said, pointing at a particular graphic picture, "is not a clean cut but more of a tear, similar to that an animal would inflict on prey. I'm not able to verify the exact method of death absolutely because the surveillance cameras were, as you know, disabled in the morgue before the staff were killed, but I would say the wound in each case was inflicted by a bite, the size and diameter of which incidentally matches the current dental condition of Forbes."

"Forbes?" queried Jack. He peered closely at the photo, trying to see the supposed teeth marks in the wound and failing.

"Alexander Forbes, the second pathologist found in the morgue."

"Oh."

"What, are you saying he bit himself?" Daniel frowned in confusion.

Doctor Frasier smiled at Daniel. "No, I'm saying that whatever has infected him caused identical physical changes to that of his murderers."

"You think there's some sort of contagion then that passed from SG-14 to Forbes?" asked Carter.

"That's the latest theory although we won't know for sure until the contagion is isolated."

"If it's contagious don't you think we should have the base under lockdown or something?" Daniel said worriedly.

"No," Fraiser shook her head. "It's definitely not bacterial in nature and isn't airborne so requires more than mere touch to infect. One of my nurses came into direct contact with Major Brooks during SG-14's escape and he's shown no symptoms at all."

"So we're talking about an exchange of bodily fluids?" asked Carter.

"That seems to be the case, yes."

Jack put the prints down and stared across at Doctor Fraiser. "Can you cure it?"

"Honestly, at this point I can't say," Fraiser replied with a bland smile. "The thing is Forbes was medically dead – still is, apart from his neural activity. His body is emitting no heat, has no heartbeat and doesn't need to breathe. However, he appears awake, responds to pain stimuli and sedatives which means his body his functioning to some extent."

"You might need to dig a cross out of your office after all, Danny," Jack murmured teasingly.

Daniel gave Jack a sidelong glance that spoke volumes. "Funny," he muttered back, his voice conveying the complete opposite. "Janet, if he doesn't breathe and this is the same thing SG-14's got, how did Samuels talk to Jack?"

"He doesn't need to use his respiratory system to import oxygen to his red blood cells, but he does have the ability to draw air in and out of his lungs, and hence force air though his vocal chords."

"Has Forbes said anything?" said Daniel.

"His throat was badly damaged in the attack," Fraiser said, shaking her head once again. "The most we've got out of him is incoherent grunts – usually when he's trying to attack someone. Due to his violent behaviour we've had to keep him sedated for the majority of the time."

"The citizens reported missing," said Teal'c. "Is there any medical reason to believe SG-14 is to be held accountable?"

Janet shrugged. "I don't know, Teal'c. Until either those missing turn up, or a body is found, there's no way of knowing if the events are connected."

"Anything else you can tell us?" asked Carter.

"We're running further tests but I won't know anymore until the results come back from the lab. The only thing I have to add is that there were abrasions recorded as being on the wrists and ankles of SG-14 as well as cuts, bruises and burns on their arms, legs and torsos indicating they were restrained and quite possibly tortured before being killed."

"What about Sergeant Hayward?"

Doctor MacKenzie opened his briefcase and extracted a manila coloured file and a small silver Dictaphone, placing them side by side on the table before him.

"Sergeant Hayward is severely traumatised and has to be constantly supervised for his own safety. I've been trying hypnosis and some alternative regression techniques to get him to recount his experience off world, but I don't want to push him too hard, you understand."

"Has he said anything?" asked Daniel.

"So far the sessions have been mostly unproductive. I've established the order of events as witnessed by Hayward up until SG-14's embarkation through the Stargate, but beyond that things get hazy. I've brought a recording," MacKenzie announced, holding up the Dictaphone. He pressed play and set the miniature tape player down, settling back in his chair and folding his arms as voices began to wind their way from the small speaker.

'_We sent back the MALP. Standard procedure.' The voice sounded emotionless and sleepy, a strange lack of intonation to its speech._

'_What did you do after that?' asked a second voice, evidently Doctor MacKenzie._

'_Major Brooks gave the order to secure the perimeter. Samuels and Parker…'_

'_What did Samuels and Parker do, Mark?'_

'_T-t-they were… they were screaming.' The 'dead' quality of Hayward's voice lifted as panic began to creep its way back into him mind._

'_Go back to earlier, Mark,' MacKenzie said calmly. 'Major Brooks ordered the perimeter secured. Is that what they went to do?'_

'_They were screaming,' Mark repeated, his voice rising in pitch as well as volume, terror knifing through his words._

'_Mark, I want you to–'_

'_God-dammit, they were screaming!'_

_Okay, we'll leave it there for today." MacKenzie's words were accompanied by two loud claps._

MacKenzie glanced over at Jack and shrugged his shoulders. "We haven't managed to get past the 'screaming' yet, but the next part should interest you, Doctor Jackson."

'_Mark, Mark… look at me.' Hayward sounded confused, shouting words in a slurred mess. There was the sound of a chair being knocked over. 'Nurse, 10 milligrams.'_

"Yes, very interesting," Daniel said to MacKenzie, an edge of anger colouring his tone.

"It's just coming up now," MacKenzie explained hurriedly over the sounds of a scuffle, the screech of a table being dragged against rubber flooring.

The recording was suddenly full of incoherent mumbling which grew clearer as the microphone was brought closer to the now semi-sedated Hayward. Daniel leaned forward, his curiosity piqued, his forehead furrowed in concentration as he listened closely to strange words.

'_What are you trying to tell me, Mark? What is it?'_

It sounded to Jack like Hayward was reciting the same phrase over and over again, his voice growing fainter and fainter as the drugs kicked in, pushing him over into unconsciousness.

MacKenzie pushed the stop button off with an audible click and looked round the table with an expectant and rather self-satisfied expression.

"What was that? Arabic? Alien? What's he saying?" Jack asked.

"Me?" Daniel pointed a finger at his chest.

"You're the linguist," Jack reminded him. "What's he saying?"

"I don't know," replied Daniel.

"You don't know?"

"No Jack. I don't."

"Why not?"

Daniel sighed, setting his hands flat on the table top. "Jack, I don't know all the languages on this planet, let alone the galaxy."

"They're just words," argued Jack. "You speak what, thirty-odd languages – how many can there be?"

Jack found himself being fixed with a bland look from Daniel.

"Only about three thousand we know existed, one hundred of which have been properly documented… and that's just on Earth."

Jack did the math. "Oh." That was quite a lot of languages.

"Daniel, do you think you might be able to translate it?" Carter asked politely.

"If it's some he picked up off world?" Daniel raised his shoulders in a non-committal fashion. "Maybe, maybe not. It depends on when and where it originated. Take Abydos for example, we got lucky – the pronunciation of ancient languages is conjecture a lot of the time, even when the writings from that period are syllabic instead of ideographic. And, might I add, I had the written form to work from as well as the spoken variation. Even if the language he's speaking is from Earth it's going to have evolved over the hundreds, probably thousands of years since its transplantation."

"How long do you need?" Jack asked. "Ball park figure?"

"A week, month… year? He might just be talking gibberish, you know."

"I'm aware of that," nodded Jack, "but you know General Hammond'll be all over it as soon as he hears the recording."

"True," Daniel agreed. "If I can find a common point of reference the–"

"Colonel O'Neill, Sir," a voice barked from the corridor entrance, cutting Daniel off mid-sentence.

"What is it, Airman?" Jack asked tersely, standing up stiffly.

"There was a phone call for you, Sir. A Miss Summers. She left a message," the Airman reported. Jack noted for the first time the envelope he was holding in his right hand.

"Give it here," Jack ordered. He took the envelope from the Airman and turned it over in his hands finding it unsealed. "Thank you, you're dismissed. Finally, something we can work with," Jack said, turning back to the table and sitting down while his eyes scanned the brief note scribbled on the enclosed sheet of paper.

I CHANGED MY MIND. WE NEED TO TALK.

The note went on to list the time and place of the proposed meeting. It was short and concise, yet informative. Jack smiled at the name of the café she'd chosen.

"What does it say?" Carter said impatiently.

"She wants to meet," Jack cheerfully informed her, pushing the message across the table.

"You?" Daniel raised his eyebrows.

"Of course me, who else?" replied Jack.

Daniel shifted in his seat with a cautious air. "Jack, I don't think after what happened last time you're the best person to meet with her. Why don't I go instead?" he suggested.

"She doesn't know you," Jack argued.

"Well, she doesn't 'like' you," Daniel countered heartlessly.

"What gave you that idea?" Jack said in an injured tone of voice.

"Buffy Summers made her feelings towards you quite clear, O'Neill," Teal'c said, cocking his head to peer at the message over Carter's shoulder.

"Whoa there, big guy," Jack frowned. He was chairing this briefing wasn't he? Didn't that command him at least some respect from his subordinates?

"There's a simple solution, Sir," said Carter, passing the message over to Daniel who scanned it quickly. Jack looked sharply at the Major who was smirking altogether too much at his expense. "Daniel can act as chaperone."

The words 'to make sure you behave yourself' didn't need to be spoken. No, they hung in the air between them for all to see. The day had just gotten worse. Again.


	7. Chapter Six

**Disclaimer: see Prologue**

**CHAPTER SIX**

**19:42 AUGUST 10**

Although it was not yet dark, twilight had taken a firm hold on the evening, and the sun was dipping inevitably towards the mountainous horizon. It deepened in colour as it fell, a warm, rich orange hue that picked out the lengthening shadows in a soft glow. The sky was clear but for wisps of broken cloud that appeared to be interlaced with slowly diffusing aeroplane tails that shone with bright luminosity where they captured the fading light

A Shot in the Dark, was the name of a small café on Nevada Avenue between a Greek restaurant and an electrical store. It was fairly unobtrusive, without the normal holiday tourist trappings, and was popular with the locals for this reason, seeing regular traffic through its doors late into the night. The interior was divided into two distinct areas, separated by a central service bar opposite the kitchens. The front of the café was given over to large deep seated leather sofas, the sort that enveloped one whole once sat in and were very hard to leave. Between them stood low, broad wooden coffee tables stained dark and polished to reflect the soft lighting. The rear, and intended eating area, was predominantly occupied by tables and chairs, organised into booths partitioned by thin walls of loosely gathered bamboo canes.

Seated at a table in the farthest corner from the entrance, Buffy stopped nursing her flattening soda and twisted round to stare Dawn in surprise. Dawn had arrived moments earlier, and, after hooking her shoulder bag over the back of the chair beside Buffy, had set her overflowing cup down on the table with a loud clunk before sitting down with an audible sigh and regaling Buffy with her illegal exploits.

"Not Initiative?" For a moment Buffy had thought she'd misheard Dawn over the noise of the music, but her sister shook her head to confirm her statement.

"Not any part of the Initiative I could find, and I looked everywhere. Believe me." Dawn dipped her head to slurp the foam off the top of her steaming cappuccino then glanced ravenously over at the bar. "Do they do food here, right?"

"You hacked into the Initiative?" Buffy asked with not inconsiderable concern. "Tell me we're not going to have Federal Agents coming out of the woodwork…"

"Of course not!" Dawn rolled her eyes and leaned across Buffy to grab a laminated menu from the end of the table. "Willow showed me how to hide my location. You didn't think it was just research skills she was teaching me all those evenings. Well, that and math," she added with a nostalgic look, perusing the menu with hungry eyes.

"I had my fears, which, I might add, have just been realised," Buffy huffed and reached down under the table to take out her purse. Taking out her credit card she handed it over to Dawn with a stern glare. "You get arrested and I'm telling."

"I was doing you a favour." Dawn snatched the card from Buffy's fingers and rose quickly, her coffee slopping dangerously as her hip rocked the table. Buffy steadied it before spillage occurred and watched Dawn stalk purposefully to the bar and lean against the gleaming tiled counter, waiting to be served.

"I know you were, and thank you," she said when Dawn returned, clasping cutlery wrapped in a napkin in anticipation of her dinner. Buffy smiled apologetically. "It's just sometimes I forget you're all grown up now, and having your kid sister hack into top secret military records… well, it can be a little unnerving."

"_Kid_ sister?" Dawn's scathing tone matched her indignant expression.

"Get over it," Buffy advised with a quick grin. "Seriously though Dawn, there's got to be a connection between the Colonel and the Initiative. Are you sure you looked everywhere?"

"Yes," Dawn confirmed emphatically, "and there was no record of any O'Neill – Colonel or otherwise – in their list of agents; I checked twice."

"We need Willow's help with this. Remind me to call Giles later."

Dawn pursed her lips in annoyance. "If you don't believe me then why don't you just 'ask' the Initiative – they helped you with Spike didn't they?"

"And this is where I point out that my method for contacting Riley is at the bottom of a rather large crater in Southern California," Buffy pointed out sardonically. "Plus, I hardly think they're going to give me the low-down on their latest Frankenstein project, even if I am the Slayer."

"He's in the Haedo Hills in Tacuarembó, Uruguay, until the eighteenth – I looked him up," Dawn replied smugly, enjoying the look of surprise on Buffy's face. "You wouldn't believe what they're doing down there," she continued, pausing only to take a sip of her coffee. "Apparently a tribe in the Amazon started worshiping this Vicuña demon – it's supposed to be some sort of tiger god, lots of teeth and claws; very aggressive. Anyway, to cut a long, and rather disgusting, story short, they actually managed to raise the Vicuña and, after it had finished eating the shocked tribesmen, it travelled south, wiping out any isolated buffets in its path. What I want to know is how one 'accidentally' raises a demon?"

"You're talking to the wrong person," replied Buffy, "you want Xander for that one."

Dawn snorted, remembering Xanders's wish on a stolen charm from the Magic Box that had inadvertently turned the whole of Sunnydale into a deadly musical production. One of the later examples in a list of Xander Harris-induced demonic weirdness.

"Though, to be fair he was on the Hellmouth at the time," Buffy mused. "Did Riley kill it?"

"Dunno, didn't say," Dawn shrugged her shoulders. "Ooh, thank God, food!" she announced fervently as she caught sight of the barman bringing her a plate adorned with a well toasted panini surrounded by a mountain of salad and bordered with a sea of tortilla chips.

"Still," Buffy said, frowning, "I'd rather not involve Riley unless absolutely necessary, especially now he's married." The last thing she wanted was to see Riley swanning in with his perfect commando wife on his arm, even if her sentiments were childish. She reached over and stole a chip from the mound on Dawn's plate.

"Hey!" Dawn complained through a mouthful of cheesy bread.

"I paid for it, remember?" Buffy reminded her and stole another chip to prove her point.

Dawn gave a world weary sigh. "Maybe Willow will know wher… isn't that him?"

"Riley?" Buffy exclaimed foolishly. She followed Dawn's gaze and saw a tall grey-haired man pass into the café, his face turned momentarily away from them as he spoke to someone obscured behind him. She watched Colonel O'Neill walk stiffly towards them, halting at the bar. His eyes met hers, then rose upwards to inspect the menu board.

"Yeah, that's him," said Buffy. She glanced at her watch. "Bang on time too. And look," she added with an edge entering her voice, "he's brought a friend. How nice."

**20:01 AUGUST 10**

"Is she here yet?" His hands stuffed in his chino pockets, Daniel squinted around the café, his eyes taking their time getting used to the change in light.

"Corner table," Jack informed him without taking his eyes from the board. He'd spotted the blonde and her sister the moment he'd stepped through the door, picking them out instantly because, to his chagrin, she'd chosen the exact same table he would've in her situation. It provided an almost complete view of everyone in the café including the single entrance, and also meant that anyone joining the pair would have their back to the door.

"Coffee?"

"Thanks," said Daniel, staring openly across the bar at the two girls. He licked his lips nervously. "Um, Jack, just before we join them—?

"Daniel," Jack cut him off, "if this is another lecture on the art of being diplomatic you know that cluck like a dog, bark like a chicken stuff's not me: that's why you're here, okay."

"What? No tact, decorum and civility in the military?" Daniel murmured with false surprise, disregarding the glower Jack sent in his general direction. "Just try and play nicely…?"

His suggestion was either not heard or deliberately ignored and Daniel found himself suddenly with a handful of coffee and empty space beside him as Jack wound his way round the bar towards the two girls in the corner.

Daniel, Jack moaned in his head, slowing as he approached the table, had been gradually driving him insane all afternoon, trying to drill him on the best way to entice Summers to cooperate with the SGC. It was a complete waste of time. He knew how to be charming already. Really. It was just some times he chose not to be. Take the Tok'ra for example, he was cultivating a total lack of charm in their presence with great care and dedication to the task – especially where Freya and Anise were concerned…

If Daniel wanted charm: he'd damn well show him charm. Jack quickly wiped the scowl from his face and beamed down at the two girls.

"Good evening ladies." He shone them the winning smile he knew always worked with Carter. "May I say you both look particularly stunning tonight… Hey, what happened to your eye?" His voice trailed away as the brunette, a black eye blossoming nicely, barely took her eyes off her food, munching steadily through a small country of tortilla chips, and the elder Summers simply stared back up at him, her blue eyes coldly unimpressed. "Oy, tough crowd," Jack muttered under his breath.

Daniel cleared his throat meaningfully; causing Jack to turn in confusion to look at the other man's impatiently raised eyebrows. What had he done wrong now?

"Who's your friend?" Summers asked bluntly, the welcoming tone in her voice patently false.

"Oh, sorry," Jack said, and quickly moved to correct his oversight, "can I introduce you to Doctor Daniel Jackson. Daniel, Miss Buffy Summers and her beautiful sister Dawn.

"It's a pleasure," Daniel said politely, stepping forward and holding out his hand.

Summers frowned curiously at Daniel, and Dawn raised her eyes and uttered a quick hello, but neither moved to reciprocate.

Sharing a grimace with Daniel, Jack pulled out the chair opposite Summers and sat himself down. He was dammed if he was going to wait for an invitation that clearly wasn't going to come. He wished the weather wasn't so hot; despite the air conditioning, it made him cranky and short tempered. Why on earth people still drank coffee in this weather was beyond him. What he really wanted, needed right now was a beer, preferably straight from the fridge. Instead he was stuck with a soda for which the only thing going was several teaspoons of sugar and a pathetic amount of caffeine. He ran his thumb around the cool neck of the bottle, wiping away the damp droplets of condensation that had gathered on its surface and stared across at the unreadable face before him. Jack glanced sideways at Daniel, whose eyes were flickering back and forth between him and Summers, a curious curl twisting his lips that looked suspiciously like amusement.

"So," said Jack, leaning back in his chair and trying to look more unconcerned that he was, wishing again that the conversation wasn't being recorded for later humiliation. "How are we going to do this?"

"How about my way?" Summers said, suddenly leaning forward, resting her elbows on the table. "Tell me if I get anything wrong: you've screwed up big time, your little 'science projects' have escaped and are running around town creating a rather embarrassing mess, and you've decided you want me to help with the cleanup operation."

"Something like that…" Jack glanced over at Daniel who was wide-eyed at the worryingly accurate summation of their state of affairs Summers had just given.

"Which only leaves the question," Summers continued, fixing Jack with a firm, no nonsense look. "Why me?"

"Given your evident understanding of the situation isn't that obvious?" Daniel asked.

"Okay, let me rephrase that. Why the _hell _should I help you?"

Finally, thought Jack: an end to this silly beating around the bush, dancing round the subject, rubbish. "Because," he said evenly, "I think you're different from everyone else here, and, more importantly," he added, "I think you 'want' to help, or you wouldn't have summoned us here."

Jack grinned inwardly at the look of shock that flashed through Summers eyes. She hid the feeling quickly, but not before he'd seen it and relished the fact he'd somehow caught her off guard – never mind the fact that he didn't have a clue as to why his statement had resulted in her unexpected reaction. He picked up his drink and tilted it playfully to catch the light, tiny bubbles of carbon dioxide rushing haphazardly towards the surface.

"So, are you going to or not?"

"W-what?"

Jack looked quickly round the table, noting that Summers' sister looked just as confused at her loss of composure. Daniel was murmuring something helpful in his ear but Jack ignored him, wanting to follow up on his advantage.

"Are you going to help, or am I wasting my time?" he asked coldly.

"What Jack means—"

"I know what he meant," Summers snapped, cutting off Daniel's attempt at softening Jack's words. "And the answer's yes."

"That's yes to the helping part, not the wasting your time," Dawn interjected.

"But," Summers said, holding up a hand to stifle Jack's interruption, "we're doing it right this time."

Jack mouthed the words 'this time?' at Daniel, but the archaeologist shrugged his shoulders, returning his baffled expression.

"Dawn's drawn up some terms and conditions regarding our employment," Summers continued, nodding at her sister who delved in her pants pocket and pulled out a folded and slightly crumpled sheet of paper.

"I'm sure we can come to some sort of arrangement," Daniel said smoothly.

"No," Dawn said firmly, "these aren't requests, they're demands: non-negotiable."

"Or should we be talking to someone else, Jack?" Summers said pointedly.

She had a strangely triumphant look on her face, and Jack knew that whatever advantage he'd thought he'd had over her a moment before was completely gone. And it had been going so well…

"No…no…" Jack climbed to his feet and pulled out his cell phone. "I'll be back in a minute."

As Jack retreated to call General Hammond, Summers sat back with a satisfied expression, folding her arms across her stomach and fixed Daniel with an intense stare. Daniel could feel his left eye begin to twitch nervously under the scrutiny of her thousand yard stare. He broke eye contact with her with the excuse of stirring his coffee and did his best to disregard the smirk that crossed her lips. He picked up the cup and held it between his hands and attempted to think of some innocuous question that would qualify as small talk. 'Hurry up Jack,' Daniel prayed silently, shifting uncomfortable in his chair and glancing over his shoulder at the figure just visible through the café façade, pacing back and forth on the pavement outside.

"So…" said Daniel, returning his coffee to the table, "you're from Sunnydale?"

"Not originally," came Summers' short and uninformative reply.

Daniel felt an incomprehensible urge to fill the silence that followed. "Odd – what happened to the town, I mean."

"I guess," Summers replied without apparent interest, reaching over to take one of the few remaining chips off her sister's plate. She munched on it with a thoughtful look in her eyes, her gaze shifting between Daniel and the distant Colonel. She finished her soda. "You're not military."

It was more of a statement that a question, and bizarrely Daniel was actually pleased she'd been able to draw that distinction between himself and Jack despite his years with the SGC.

"No… I—" Daniel almost began to tell her about his role within the military before stopping himself with a mental slap. Buffy Summers may have known entirely too much about what was happening in the Springs, but Hammond would not be a happy General if he gave away more information than was entirely necessary.

The awkward silence returned. Daniel tapped his fingers against the warm side of his coffee cup and looked over his shoulder again. Jack was standing still now, facing away from the café and Daniel could tell nothing about what was happening. He turned back to the table.

"So, uh, can I get anyone another drink?"

"We're fine thanks," said Summers' sister. Her manner wasn't exactly hostile, but neither was it welcoming. He wondered if her glare would be as disconcerting as her elder sisters? What was her name? Dawn? It didn't really fit with Buffy – what 'had' their parents been thinking?

"First time in Colorado?"

"Yeah."

"Okay, whadaya need?" Jack said, sitting back down and leaning forward, all business.

Summers nodded at her sister and she slid the paper across to Daniel, her dark eyes watching him carefully as he unfolded the sheet and scanned the list she'd written. He raised his eyebrows and handed it to Jack with a funny look on his face.

It took about two seconds. Daniel counted.

"What! Are you NUTS!" Jack looked up at Summers then back down at the paper, his expression incredulous.

"Jack…" Daniel said warningly.

Summers grinned at Jack. "You know," she said conversationally, "apoplexy's a good look on you."

Daniel choked back a laugh, barely hiding it with an explosive cough.

"Is there a problem?" Dawn asked innocently.

"No problem," Daniel said quickly, "is there Jack?"

"Just a total breach of..." Jack caught Daniel's eye and saw the look the archaeologist was giving him. He took a deep breath. "No… no problem at all."

Jack stared down at the list in front of him and ran his eye over them again, hoping that somehow he'd misunderstood. Nope, they were just as bad the second time round…

"Good," Summers said meaningfully.

"Of course we'll have to clear this with the Base Commander," said Daniel.

"You back out on anything and the deal's off, capishe?" added Dawn.

"Even the…?" Jack pointed wordlessly at the fifth item on the list.

"Especially that," said Summers, her tone final.

Jack shook his head in disbelief.

"And you'll both be… helping?" Daniel asked.

"Just me for now, Dawn later 'if' you hold up your end of the bargain. Get back to us when you've talked to your boss – I believe you know where to find us…" she added with an ironic smile, rising to her feet along with her sister, hooking her bag over her shoulder.

"That's it?" Daniel said to the receding figures as they wove their way towards the exit. They didn't reply.

"General's not going to like this," Jack said glumly.

"No change there then," Daniel said with false cheerfulness. "Congratulations on keeping your temper by the way, I was really impressed."

"Why thank you," Jack replied sarcastically. "Anyway, what was so funny back there?" he added, remembering the amused look Daniel had borne through out most of the meeting.

"You were both staring at each other with the exact same look on your faces. Incredible."

"That's so the last time I buy you coffee," Jack growled.

**22:16 AUGUST 10**

The large grey elevator doors on level 27 slid apart smoothly and the Airman waiting patiently in the corridor had the good sense to step backwards as Colonel Jack O'Neill, complete with personal thundercloud, stormed out closely followed by Daniel Jackson, who bore an amused, if slightly strained, expression.

"No Daniel, I think it's an _insane_ idea," Jack barked, not pausing for Daniel, who had to trot to catch up with him, sore knee ignored as he swept down the corridor towards General Hammond's office.

It was fortunate that this late at night, with no large missions scheduled in or out of the Stargate until Wednesday, the base had only a bare minimum of personnel on duty and the corridors were practically empty. Despite this, Daniel still had to gesture apologetically at an unobservant scientist who was nearly run down by the seething Colonel.

"Well, it's not like there isn't a precedent for bringing civilians into the SGC when they're needed," Daniel argued, trying to get Jack so slow down.

Jack rolled his eyes. He'd explained to Daniel three times already, twice in the car and again in the lift, why this was not the same situation. No way in hell was this the same situation – it was hardly comparable under any light. For starters, each and every person, civilian or military, underwent thorough background checks before even being allowed to step foot within the mountain. Anything even slightly suspicious in their personal history and the candidate was dropped faster than… faster than really hot things got dropped.

Under any other circumstance Buffy Summers wouldn't have been touched with two barge poles strapped together and attached to a M.A.L.P., possibly with the remote controlled from the other side of a wormhole to a very distant planet. Even taking the current circumstances into consideration there was no way Summers was going to get away with the little stunt she and her sister had just tried to pull. Daniel didn't understand the implications of what Summers was trying to do because he was primarily a civilian, Jack reasoned. General Hammond would see it his way. There was simply no chance he'd hand the SGC over to an unknown quantity on a plate, even in the most dire of state of affairs.

"Daniel, it would be li–"

"I'm a prime example," Daniel continued doggedly, determined to get his point across. "Then there was Dr Harlow, Doctor MacLaren, not to mention most of the scientists on this base!"

"And what if they're alien?"

"Um, Teal'c, Nyan?"

Jack stopped dead. "Neither of whom is demanding operational command in the field!" he surprised himself by practically shouting at Daniel who raised his eyebrows quizzically at the outburst.

"You're right Jack: what _was_ I thinking?" Daniel replied softly, his tone demure though his eyes spoke differently.

Jack nearly answered his rhetorical question with a tart retort until he noticed they had reached the General's office and were being watched by both General Hammond and Major Paul Davis, the latter attired in full dress blues and peering curiously over his shoulder at the sudden interruption.

"Colonel, Doctor," General Hammond asked, closing the file that lay open on his desk and rising to his feet. "How did it go?"

As if he had to ask after that little display, Jack thought, grimacing. If he carried on like this in front of his Commanding Officer, especially after his slip up over procedure the previous week, then losing command to a small, blonde, manipulative, scheming… well, it would be the least of his worries.

"She made demands," Daniel volunteered, sounding altogether too cheerful.

"A whole list of them," Jack added, passing the controversial, and now heavily crumpled, sheet to the General, whose eyes widened perceptibly as he studied its contents.

"Are they serious?"

"Oh yes," replied Jack, "deadly, it would seem."

"This is one tall order, Colonel," continued General Hammond, shaking his head. "Miss Summers is aware this is a military installation?"

"Hence condition numero five, Sir," said Jack, rocking back on his heels. Perversely pleased that the General was looking as put out as he himself felt.

Which one was that again?" Daniel asked lightly.

Major Davis rose from his chair and squinted slightly as he peered over at the list General Hammond held out for him. "'In combat scenarios against hostiles that fall under the jurisdiction of Buffy Summers' expertise she, or any person or persons she so delegates, will assume command at her discretion,'" he read out. He glanced up at General Hammond with an unreadable expression on his face.

Daniel nodded slowly, "oh, that one."

"Yes, that one," Jack said evenly. There was no chance in hell Daniel had forgotten that little piece of information. He'd been very wrong about Daniel not fully comprehending the implications of what the Summers girls were demanding: he'd understood altogether too well, and, was finding it incredibly amusing to watch the fallout. Damn him.

"My personal favourite was the clause about honesty and openness," Daniel said with a gentle smile, "how about you, Paul?"

Major Davis scanned the document quickly, then looked up to meet Daniel's gaze. "Summers wrote this?" he asked with surprise.

"Her sister, I think," Daniel corrected.

"Well, she knows what she's doing all right," he concluded wryly.

"Yup, could have used her input on the treaty with the Tok'ra," Daniel agreed.

"But hey, at least she's not demanding the return of Alaska."

"Am I the only one taking this seriously?" Jack snapped, not getting the reference and irritated by the mutual grins the two men shared. As an Air Force officer he had at least expected better of Major Davis; instead the Major was joining in the levity that was overtaking what should have been a very grave discussion.

"No Colonel, you're not," said General Hammond. "Condition three, did they specify how the money was to be paid?"

"General, you're not actually considering agreeing to this?" Jack gaped.

"Erm, sorry to interrupt," said Major Davis, holding up a hand, "but this is precisely what General Hammond and I were conferring about just now." The General nodded for Major Davis to continue, and Davis took a deep breath. "The President wishes to advise the SGC that if Miss Summers feels her services would be beneficial all requests made by her should be granted wherever possible. Obviously all effort should be made to limit her exposure to sensitive areas of the Project and to keep her within the legitimate bounds of need-to-know–"

"How about the President stops sending us cryptic messages and tells us what's really going on?" Jack interrupted angrily.

"Colonel O–"

"I happen to agree with Colonel O'Neill," General Hammond cut Major Davis off. "I'd like to hear what the President knows about Buffy Summers that makes her so indispensable."

Major Davis shook his head, his expression apologetic. "I can't do that, General. I'm sorry, but it's not up to me. All I can say is that if the current situation is as you say then Buffy Summers may be ideally suited to preventing the alien incursion getting out of hand. She is, the President gathers, currently without employment and more than capable, as you yourself saw Colonel. Whether or not she is employed by this Command is up to you, General, but if I were you…" he shrugged.

"Oh for crying out loud," Jack sighed.

"Jack–"

"No Daniel, this is completely nuts! Summers turns up, makes all sorts of LUDICROUS demands, our Commander in Chief is suddenly playing twenty questions, and we're expected just to roll over and take it? Why the heck should we?"

"Because," Daniel replied, keeping his voice level, "we need her. You said yourself that she knows what she's dealing with, and after meeting her today I'd say only too well. Most of what's on that list," he gestured at the paper General Hammond still held, "is just common sense: she's protecting her interests and those of her sister. Yes, she wants control when we're in the field, but if she's good enough to save your butt from Captain Samuels then that's probably a good thing. Most of the other conditions can be worked around as we see fit without them being any the wiser if we do it right. They'll both be bound by all the same gag orders as the rest of us are, and given that she comes personally recommended and cleared by the President, I can't see the problem, can you?"

"I… yes," Jack insisted lamely, knowing he'd just lost the argument, but knowing and admitting were two entirely different things.

"You think we should bring them both in and cede to their terms?" General Hammond asked.

"In my opinion, yes," nodded Daniel.

"But–"

"Colonel?" General Hammond inquired.

"You just know she's going to be nothing but trouble," Jack muttered, but indicated his reluctant agreement with his team member.

"Yes, but she's worth all of it," Major Davis said too quietly for anyone else to hear.

"Doctor Jackson, if you'd be so kind as to oversee the drawing up of suitable contracts for Miss Summers and her sister, then we can start to do something about getting this situation under control, because as far as I'm concerned, we are responsible for each and every missing person in this morning's paper until I hear otherwise, understood?" General Hammond, said fixing Jack with a stern look. "I will not have this Command putting the residents of Colorado Springs in danger through ineptitude or an inability to adapt to what is required of us."


End file.
